


Bone Dreams

by SamShep



Series: Bone Dreams (an Undertale choose your own adventure) [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adorable Sans, Adventure, All choices are valid, Angst, Choose Your Own Adventure, Cis Female Character, Cis Male Character, Diary/Journal, E-mail, Epic Friendship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Or not, Other, POV Second Person, Poetry, Reader is male, Reader is non-binary, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romancing Sans Is Optional, Sans Is Ness Theory, Sans is not actually a skeleton, Skeleton Jokes, Skeleton Puns, Swearing, Texting, There is explicit smut if you make the necessary choices, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, You Choose Gender of Main Character, and is actually chubby, chubby sans, he is shaped very much like a human though, he just looks like a skeleton, if that's what you go in for, reader is female
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-01-26 20:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamShep/pseuds/SamShep
Summary: You keep having these strange dreams. Dreams about doing research with a monster, a smiling skeleton named Sans. They feel so real they could be memories.Are you going crazy?What should you do?[A Choose Your Own Adventure]





	1. Introduction

This is a user interactive choose your own adventure so don't read it straight through. Click on **Enter The Story** and then select  hyperlinks to make your choice; it will take you to the next chapter.

Please imagine what your Main Character ("you") looks like before you start this story.  
  
**What do you know?**  
You are a human.  
You have glasses.  
You have an able-body.  
You are "more than a little bit" taller than Sans.  
You go by "M" ...sometimes. (Maybe because your name starts with M, but not necessarily.)  
  
Now, _you_ determine what you look like.  
_You_ determine what your gender identity is.  
  
_You_ determine whether you romance Sans or become epic friends.  
  
Are you ready for this?  


  
[Enter The Story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620064#pagetop)

. . .

Is the above **Enter The Story** not a link for you? It may be your browser type. You can still read this story but you will have to goto **Chapter 20** for alternative navigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A Note About Rating:** Bone Dreams is multiple stories in one, most of which are appropriate for Teen and Up readers (assuming they are comfortable with lots of swearing). Two story branches, however, are _not_ teen appropriate. I did not want to have Bone Dreams, in it's entirety, rated Explicit because that would make it inaccessible to some readers. I decided to separate out the parts with higher ratings and rate those chapters appropriately. You will not notice this if you have access to all content ratings, but you may notice if Mature and/or Explicit are excluded for you. In Bone Dreams one path is Explicit, one path is Mature, and all others are Teen and Up.


	2. Beginning

You wake up.

That was the strangest dream.  
You feel like you've had this dream before.  
Maybe more than once?

What was it again?  
Something about your research.  
But also something about... a monster?

How odd.

It's probably nothing.  
But it's hard to shake the feeling that there's more to this. Should you try keeping a [journal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620328#pagetop) of these odd dreams?

You frown.

Wait. Are you really thinking about keeping a _dream journal?_ Just because you had some reoccurring dreams? That's not really _so_ weird.

On second thought, maybe you [shouldn't](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620132#pagetop).


	3. Shouldn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** References to depression.

. . .

You're still dreaming of monsters.

It's starting to become a problem. The dreams are so close to reality... except there's always a monster with you. A skeleton man with a wide grin.

You find yourself expecting them to be real. You turn to look over your shoulder, the words, "What do you think of this, Sans?" said to an empty room.

Things you thought you did... you find undone. You're getting deja vu all the time. Places you've never been feel like places you used to go.

Are you going crazy?

Kate has started to notice. When you get lunch together she keeps asking you what's going on. Apparently you keep staring off into space. Sometimes you look sad, sometimes you're smiling at nothing.

You keep answering that you just haven't been sleeping well.

It's a lie. You're sleeping more than you ever have.

Maybe you should admit it. Admit something _is_ going on. Admit that you're having dreams that feel more like memories. That you are starting to believe monsters are real and maybe you know one personally.

That you're a little scared your mind is unraveling.

It would be nice to not feel so alone in this.

How do you even start that conversation? "I think there is something wrong with me…"

What if Kate can't handle it? She has enough problems of her own, she doesn't need yours. You're strong, maybe you can help yourself. And really, its not that bad. They're just dreams.

Maybe you'll just keep hiding why you're so distracted, at least until it looks like more of a problem.

. . .

You missed class today.

It was an exam.

You're going to try emailing the professor; tell her you have the flu.

It's a lie. You slept right through your alarm.

But you looked at your reflection and realized you might be able to pull it off anyway.

You're lying a lot these days. You're starting to get pretty good at it.

You lie to your classmates about sick family so they help you with your homework.

You lie to your advisor about corrupted data so he doesn't expect you to have more done.

You lie to Kate about everything.

The thing is, you don't even care about the exam, or homework, or the research. Or even graduating. You know you should care, so you're still trying, but it feels empty.

Why did you even _want_ this in the first place?

You've been having trouble caring about a lot of things actually.

Like eating.

You still care about Kate. But you've been avoiding her; she's going to ask you more questions and you don't want to make up more answers she knows aren't true.

You'd rather sleep.

Your dreams feel like an escape from the stress of everything else. An escape you indulge in all the time. The last dream must have been a really good one too, you woke up kind of aroused.

But this is a new level of weird. Are you [lovers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28684920#pagetop) with your dream monster? No, that's [ridiculous](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28684364#pagetop), your body's chemistry's just fucked up right now.

You should probably eat something.

Something with ketchup.


	4. Journal

. . .

[Date: July 18, 2017]  
I decided to start writing in a journal… for science, you know?  
I just never thought my emotions would be science. My dreams.  
But something weird is happening. I keep having these nightmares…  
Well, no, most of them are happy.  
But they are all about the same guy. A monster. A skeleton man named Sans. He feels so real while I'm dreaming. He's a scientist. He loves puns. He wears gym shorts and fuzzy slippers.  
I'm not creative enough to make this shit up.  
Why do I keep dreaming of him? It's starting to drive me crazy.  
I have to figure this out before I lose my mind.  
So, I guess that's what this is. I'll be recording my dreams, thoughts, memories(?) and hopefully my journey to solving this mystery.  
Either that or the path to insanity.  
InSANSity.  
Heh... well. Maybe it will be both.   
  
---  
  
. . .

You're walking alone through campus. It feels deserted.

You look up. Orion is on the eastern horizon. The stars flicker; humidity ripples the starlight's path to you.

 _"--fuck,"_ you stumble on a rift in the sidewalk. Then you scowl at it, the fuckin treacherous relic. At least the nearly full Moon (to the west) helps when you're actually watching your feet.

Well... it doesn't _anymore;_ the Physics Building looms over you; you swipe your keycard to get in.

You walk the darkened hallways; your steps echoing off the sterile concrete floor and walls. This building always gives you the creeps but, when it's late and empty like this, you swear you see shadows in hallway corners and hear whispers in the vents.

It doesn't help that there are legit ghost stories. A professor actually _died_ here.

You walk a little faster.

At your destination, you slide your metal key in, turn it to unbolt the office door. You scan the room; it's illuminated solely by your computer's flashing alert; your algorithm has finished compiling a data set. You flip the light switch, rebolt the door, walk to your desk.

Your eyes glance to and follow the only other desk as you walk by it; Jim's desk is _so much better;_ yours puts your back uncomfortably toward the door; you never know when someone comes in if you're wearing your headphones.

Not having seniority sucks.

Sitting down in your vintage office chair, you start the algorithm on the next data set, then load the newly compiled data so you can analyze it in some graphs. You pull out your noise-canceling headphones and start up a playlist; you've decided against the eerie ambience today.

You slide the headphones over your ears--

\--the overhead lights start flashing--

_you freeze._

The florescents flicker three times and then the power cuts out.

You're plunged into total darkness.

Authentic B-horror style.

Then you hear something--your skin prickles.

 _Stop freaking out._ There are no _actual_ ghosts here.

You stand up, pause, pull the headphones off your ears and onto your neck. You tilt your ear toward the sound. It's a soft _shuffle shuffle_ of dragging feet.

It's getting louder.

 _Zombies(!!!),_ your brain provides in panic.

You calmly tell your brain to _stop freaking the fuck out._

But five seconds later, you hear the locked door _click_ open without a key (fuck! they're _telekinetic zombies!)_ and the hinges _creeeakk_ as the door swings out. 

_Stupid Jim_ with the _stupid better desk_ that wouldn't have put you in this position of _still having your back to the door._

_shuffle shuffle_

You take a deep breath. It _can't_ be what your mind is suggesting--zombies _or_ ghosts. You fight against the fear freezing you in place and glance--just with your eyes--toward the doorway; which is now spilling moonlight into the dark room.

_shuffle shuffle_

_Shit,_ you still can't see ~~what~~ \-- _who_ \--it is. And it's probably just Jim--or maybe the janitor--or some other very reasonable person to be here now... crazy late... during a power outage...

_shuffle shuffle_

Okay _fine,_ that seems weird _now,_ but as soon as you look it will make so much sense you'll feel stupid for freaking out--

 _Stop stalling,_ your brain interrupts, then less logically insists-- _move slowly so it can't see you!_

What? We think it's a TV trope dinosaur now?!  
_(shuffle shuffle)_  
_Look now dammit!_  
Okay fine brain! _Fuck._

You bite your lip and _t u r n_ \--

 _"Ahh! Fuck no!"_ you yell with dignity. Then you execute a brilliant strategic plan called, Trip on Your Chair and Fall to the Floor, _"ow!_ Fuck!"

The _shuffle_ abruptly stops. You freeze in your tactical position and look up into the pits of abyss before you.

You sense that, even though it has no eyes, it's looking right at you.

...with...  
... surprise?

Okay, that's weird.

You take in the entirety of the abomination, a ghostly white skeletal creature, its wide toothy grin at odds with round eye sockets of surprise. Then you notice something important.

It's wearing fluffy slippers.

...fluffy slippers...

_Fluffy slippers?_

Your brain keeps repeating this like, 'Error. Error. Error. Cannot compute with the given variables.'

You both remain frozen, staring at each other in shock, for a long moment, before it moves.

The skeleton holds its hand up, points its finger like a gun at the ceiling lights. Its left eye flashes yellow and the lights turn back on.

You try to process the spectacle before you.

It appears to be a surprisingly solid looking skeleton in a blue hoodie, gym shorts and... _pink slippers,_ your brain points that out again, _baby. pink. fluffy. slippers._

...and proceeds to get re-stuck on that.

'Error. Error. Still can not compute. Please provide variables that aren't _ridiculous.'_

"Welp," the skeleton man says (that is definitely a masculine sounding voice) "didn't think anyone would still be here."

Your eyes go wider. For some reason that was the last thing you expected him to say.

You... might start mumbling to yourself. "What the _hell_ \--have I finally snapped?--am I hallucinating?--I mean--I knew grad school was going to be tough and--yeah--maybe I started off with a suspect amount of sanity but _this_ \--this is over the edge--this is padded cells--this is...never shutting up about spacetime and paradoxes and...living skeletons with... _fuzzy slippers_ \--"

"Okay, _calm down_ Kid. I do not want to be responsible if you die of shock. Just. _Breathe."_

You breathe.

And then cough.

That was too much dusty air in one shot.

You computer chooses that moment to blare booting-up sounds at you through the headphones, still very close to your ears.

"Ahh, fuck!" you shove the headphones off your head and put your hand over your chest. Your heart is pumping so fast.

"Think you might have skipped a beat," the man says, "Quite the trip, wasn't it?"

Wait...beat?  
With the heartbeat and the headphones...  
And..trip?  
Like... tripping on the chair... Like a trip to the floor...  
That's a... joke... ...isn't it?

Your skeletal hallucination is telling... _jokes?_

"If we have to take you to the hospital you might have a change of heart."

\--you burst out laughing.

It might be the shock, you sound a bit hysterical, but you laugh until there are tears in your eyes.

Then you kind of start hyperventilating.

"Okay, seriously Kid, calm down, I don't want to have to _actually_ take you to the hospital. Can you imagine me walkin' in with this skull?" He motions to his head. After a moment, as if he can't help it, he continues, "It would certainly be a... humerus situation."

"Oh--my--gosh," you mange inbetween breaths--hyperventilaughing--again--

But he keeps going, "Skeleton walks into a hospital carrying a mortally wounded person he just met. A patient sees him and takes off, sprinting down a hall, yelling, 'You'll never take me alive!'

Skeleton gets to the help desk but before he can ask a question the attendant says, 'Morgue is in the basement.'

Skeleton says, 'Excuse me, what?!'

'Death doesn't usually carry in its victims, but you can take this one to the morgue.'

'This person is still alive.'

'Seems you didn't do a very good job then. New, huh? Are you going to finish the job here? Morgue is still in the basement.'

'I'm not Death.'

'Is that not p.c? Is Reaper your preference?'

'I don't kill people.'

'Yes, yes, I understand, they're going to die anyway, you don't "kill them".'

'No! I just want _help_ for them. This person needs help.'

'I don't think the doctors are going to help you do your job.'

'I don't want help _killing them,_ I want help keeping them alive!'

'Oh! You've made a mistake! That _is_ unfortunate. The poor thing. Well, tell me what you did to them so I can get them help.'

'Scared them half to death.'

'Well, what's their official diagnosis?'

'I don't know, that's why I'm here.'

'Don't you have to get training to become a Reaper? You should know more details than half-dead! That doesn't even mean anything, how can you be half-dead?'

'They're not dead but they're aren't doing a particularly good job being alive right now either. I don't know what that's called, can I just get them some help?'

'Is this a glass half empty thing? Maybe you would feel better if you said half-alive.'

'I would feel better if we got them some help.'

'We'll get them some help. And don't you worry, I'm sure with more practice you'll be a talented Reaper before you know it.'

'I don't want to be a talented Reaper. I don't want to be a Reaper at all.'

'Oh, _you hate your job._ No wonder you're so bad at it. Who ever heard of a Reaper who wants to _save_ people. Talk about conflict of interest.'

'That help? Are we going to be getting that anytime soon?'

'Oh! Yep! Making the call right now." They make the call. When they're done they turn back to the skeleton and slyly smile. 'So, Mr. Grim Reaper. How does this Reaper thing work? Do you have a list? Can I get on yours?'"

You're laughing so hard it's compromising the amount of oxygen reaching your brain, "--Okay, you need to stop. For real, I can't keep laughing, it's starting to hurt."

You notice he's looking at you with a grin that is somehow warmer than it was before. "You've been pretty great… tibia-nest," he says.

You snort and start coughing again, "oh... please... stop..." you say when you can get the air for it. You really need to get off the dusty floor.

The man reaches a hand to you, "Hi, I'm Sans. Sans the skeleton." Once you take it, he pulls you up easily.

You take a few deep breaths and don't release his hand. You're relishing the solidity of his firm grasp through the softness of his gloves.

Either your hallucination is tactile, as well as visual and auditory, or Sans is actually real. "So... uh, you aren't a hallucination?" you ask.

"Nope," he chuckles, "definitely not."

"Well, that's good news." (Okay, yeah, the logic in taking the word of your possible hallucination that he's not a hallucination is a little fucked but you'd prefer not to be insane, so you're going to go with it.) You release the proof that you aren't crazy and Sans' hand slides out of yours. "I have so many questions running through my mind right now," you say.

"You are... not reacting the way I expected."

"I'm pretty... open minded?" you confess. "Besides, magic is just science that we don't understand yet." You shrug, "How could I claim you can't exist just because I don't understand it? That's my shortcoming, not yours."

"Fair enough, Kid." He shrugs, "So, uh, I guess, what's your first question?"

"Why are you _here?"_ you point down; out of all places, why _your office?_ You're dying to know.

He looks off to the side suspiciously, but decides quick, turns back to you. "To tell you the truth, I've been sneaking in here to look at your data."

"My data?! _Why?"_

He pauses for a moment, examining your expression and says, "Well, Kid, _that's_ an interesting story. I'd love to tell ya…on one condition."

You hold your breath, partly because you're worried he's going to ask you to sell your soul or something, but mostly because you're worried you'd say 'yes' in a heartbeat. Curiosity...it's kind of a problem for you.

You take a deep breath and say, "And that would be..?"

"You have to let me work on the analysis with you."

Your eyes go wide. That's all? "Uh, _fuck_ yes." You clear your throat and try again, "Uh, I mean, yeah, I think I could manage that." You're still not doing a very good job tampering your enthusiasm.

You try to look at the situation more logically. You agreed to work on your thesis project with someone you just met. Is this going to go badly? Can it go badly? How could it possibly?! You get to hang out with an actual living magical being! And he seems cool and funny and interesting--

He looks at you a tad smug.

And... now you lament the fact that you suck at _not projecting your every emotion to the world._

You huff a nervous laugh and then breathe deep. "Alright, well, I feel like I should warn you, I'm awkward, clumsy, _really_ near-sighted, a bit of an asshole sometimes, and so honest I'm off-puttingly blunt. It's the way I am and it probably won't be changing anytime soon. I hope you still want to work together..?"

His smile doesn't change but you see his eyes go surprised and serious.

"That shouldn't be a problem," he says finally.

You wake up.

[Date: July 27, 2017]  
Wow.  
I just dreamt of how we met. At first it felt like a nightmare but well... that's not how it turned out.  
I'm not sure what to say about my emotional response. I'm kind of... thrilled? Happy, excited. I want to know more. I want to see him again. It's a pretty strong response. I'm honestly a little unnerved about how intense it feels.  
At least I now know this is about my research. I still don't know why.  
But I think I might find that out soon. Maybe in the next dream?  
One interesting point though, the data set I dreamt about -- I haven't received it yet.  
Are these dreams prophetic? Am I about to meet him?  
I really hope so.  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

Your thumb hovers over the call button for your contact labelled 'sans' (all lowercase, he typed it in). You sigh and flop down into the camp chair. Then you stare at those four letters again.

This is dumb.

Why are you stalling? You've already decided you're going to call. The event starts in 20 minutes and you've got everything set up. If he says no, you'll still be sitting up here. Next to an empty chair. With no one to share a beer with.

So, what's the hold up?

Is it too soon? You didn't meet that long ago, it's still a little early to be asking him to hang out with you just for fun, isn't it? Because this doesn't have _anything_ to do with the research you're doing together.

"Ugh!" you sigh. "Let's just get it over with. It's just like a band-aid, rip the fucker off!"

You lean forward, rest your elbows on your knees and hit call before you can chicken out again.

It rings twice and then you hear a surprised, "...hi ...Whatsup Kid?"

You just launch into it, "So, I was thinking, with you being a fan of astronomy, this might be something you'd be interested in doing--or well--watching. With me. Today. Like in 20 minutes. You know, if you're not busy. And I totally understand if you are--I'm sure you have an actual job--or three--but I didn't want you to miss the chance to see it. ...Or maybe you're already watching it where you are..."

He chuckles, "That's quite the sell, Kid. So, uh, what is it that we're supposed to be watching in 20 minutes?"

"You don't know..." you say surprised. It's been all over the news, for some reason the whole country decided to get pumped about astronomy today. Where does Sans live? Under a rock? "There's a solar eclipse today."

"Huh..." he says.

"I--uh--got this crazy idea that we could watch it from the roof of the Physics Building--no one is up here except me, two chairs, and a cooler--and I figured-- since you could teleport--you could--uh--get up here--without anyone seeing--and we could watch it--it's like three hours long--so it's less like a movie--it's more like a reason to hang out and be nerds--but I--uh--I've got two pairs of solar viewing glasses so..." you squeeze your eyes shut. "--fuck, I need to stop talking." You rest your forehead on your free hand and take a deep breath. "Sans, I'm sor--"

"Sure," he says.

You hear the word in stereo and look up. He's standing in front of you. Your face breaks out into a huge smile. You let out a breath that is also kind of a laugh because you're suddenly feeling a bit giddy.

"Hi," you say dumbly.

"Hi yourself," he says back.

You wake up.

. . .

[Date: August 6, 2017]  
I've been tracking the rate of dreams.  
I tracked backwards and the first was June 30th. The only one in June. In July I had 6. Three before I started journaling and three after. August, so far, is just this one.  
There's always been 4 to 6 days in between dreams except once there were 9 days between. That was the day I started journaling. I makes me wonder, did I have one that I just forgot about? I'm so glad I'm making a point to remember and record. I hate the thought of forgetting any of this.  
I've also been keeping a rough timeline. The dreams are not sequential. But, sometimes there is enough information in the dream that I can pin point a date or range of possible dates.  
In the dream we met I saw Orion on the eastern horizon and it was still pretty dark and warm outside. So, I know it must have been late summer, early morning; close to when school starts back up. The nearly full Moon on the horizon puts the time at around 5-6 am.  
I just dreamed we watched the eclipse together. It will happen on the 19th of this month. In that dream I noted we'd hadn't quite known each other long enough for a just-for-fun hang out. I think that means we'd only been working together for 1-3 weeks. If we approximate that to 2 weeks then I met him on or near the 5th. That lines up well with the Moon being nearly full and waxing (somewhere between Aug 4-6).  
The 5th was yesterday. It's been warm and humid all week and it's supposed to continue for a bit. The sky was clear the last two nights too. So, I conclude it should happen any day now.  
I'm just terrified I'm going to miss running into him. I slept in my office last night, and the night before. But I need another plan. Maybe I can set up a camera? I'll never forgive myself if I fuck this up somehow.  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

You're working late at your office sketching out equations on a whiteboard and listening to music off your phone, noise-canceling headphones over your ears.

Your favorite song of the month comes on and you close your eyes and bob your head to the beat. But this song just calls for more passion than that, so you look around the room, double check you're alone, then close your eyes and feel the music with your soul.

You've been dancing a couple minutes when you open your eyes.

Sans is staring at you.

 _"Shit."_ You stop dancing and shove the headphones off your ears. Your face is feeling very warm.

"Sure you should be doing that with your track record?" he asks, teasing. "Don't want to trip on the beat again."

"I'm not that clumb--oof," you start to say and somehow-- _"oh, fuck"_ \--end up tripping over your _own foot_ and crumpling to the floor. "Ow."

_So smooth._

"You we're saying?" he says, chuckling. You take his offered hand and let him help you back up. You're blushing horribly. Doubling blushing. You decide to go for it, it can't get much worse, right?

"I bought these shoes from a drug dealer," you say, "Don't know what he laced them with, but I've been trippin' all day."

He laughs in surprise.

You feel like a rock star for a moment.

_Nailed it._

You wake up.

. . .

"Okay, so why, 'Kid'?" you ask him. "You can't be that much older than me? How old are you even?"

He looks at you and seems to be thinking about the question. "Hell if I know," he says, an unexpected answer. He squints his eyes a little and adds, "You got a problem with 'Kid'?"

"It's a bit awkward," you admit, wrinkling your nose.

"Well, _Kid_ , I've got others," he says. You have a feeling you're not going to like what's coming next. "Pick your favorite," he continues, "Kiddo--Buddy--Bucko--Pal--Einstein--Egghead--Slick--Goggles--Goofball--Cheeseball--Supernova--Stardust--want me to keep going? I can do this all day."

"Oh fuck no! Kid… is fine," you decide.

You'll make it work. It feels a little weird but you're already starting to get used to it. The other options... certainly weren't better.

 _"Stardust?_ ...Really?"

You wake up.

. . .

[Date: August 18, 2017]  
Today I finished compiling that data set I was working on in the dream. Sans never came. I know this for certain. I did end up getting those infrared cameras. I couldn't sleep in my office for two whole weeks but I knew I would wonder for the rest of my life if I just missed meeting him because I wasn't in my office at the right random time.  
The cameras solved that.  
And I know for a fact he never came.  
So, the dreams are officially not prophetic.  
Here are my current theories.  
Theory A: This isn't real and I'm going crazy. (Hopefully it's not this one.)  
Theory B: This is real and can be explained by:  
B1: Somehow I'm taping into an alternate universe.  
B2: This is some kind of backlash for collapse or change in an alternate timeline for this Universe.  
B3: Possibly a combination of the above.  
Regardless, I am choosing my working theory to be that this is real. I don't want to be going crazy.  
But I also don't want to disregard the possibility; I want to be able to catch myself before I drop off the deep end for good.  
I just really hate periodically asking myself, 'Have you gone insane?'  
So far, at least, when I answer, 'No,' it doesn't feel like a lie.  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

"Don't think I've forgotten that you still need to tell me why you're interested in my data," you smirk at him.

He shrugs. "I saw a description of your research on your university's grad program website," he answers simply.

You think about that for a second and frown, "That doesn't answer the question though, does it? Why we're you looking up grad programs? Why did research on Simulation Theory and tempo-spacial structure catch your attention?"

He doesn't look up from the laptop he's working on. "I thought I might be able to build on top of your work with tempo-spacial structure," he says with a tone like, _hey, it's really not important._

You realize something. "You're... not going to tell me, are you?" When he doesn't look up you say, "Sans?" He meets your eyes and you search his for an answer, "You intended to, I think, but something changed. What was it?"

He sighs, "It wasn't a contract or a promise, Kid. You can change your mind whenever you want about working with me." He meets your look with a wide grin but serious eyes, "Do ya want to stop working together?"

It sort of feels like he's calling you out on a bluff. "No," you answer but if feels uncomfortable. He's being dodgy and cryptic. You're all about being open, honest, and sometimes even rudely blunt. How is this going to work?

Then you figure it out, just don't change who you are. You continue, "I want to keep working together, even if you don't tell me. Even if you never do."

"Good," he says relieved, like he was really worried. You take comfort in the evidence that he's just as invested in this research partnership as you are.

You wake up.

. . .

"You're doing it again," he says, interrupting you.

"Wow, yeah," you drop your gaze back down to your calculations--you just got caught staring(!). "Sorry."

But dammit, he's just so _interesting._

Almost every thing about him is a puzzle and you have such a strong desire to observe, study. _Solve._

Just then you were watching him jot notes in the notebook and you'd made two important observations:  
A. He's left handed.  
B. His hands aren't bones.

And, damn, is that second one _intriguing._ He's a skeleton, right? Shouldn't his hands just be phalanges?

You glance at them, quick, and confirm that, yep, other than the bone-white color, they're just like human hands.

Weird.

So, does that mean… he's _not_ a skeleton?

It was his face that originally had you thinking _skeleton._ You covertly study him without turning your head; right now his head is tipped down, focused intently on his work, but you can still see those skeleton-ish features. The blackness behind his empty eyesockets, earholes, lack of a nose, the overall shape of his neurocranium, those all look very skeleton-like.

But that's where the similarities end, the entire rest of his face is _not_ like a skeleton; his jaw, chin, and neck are all pretty human shaped and then, more puzzling, his smile isn't human _or_ skeleton. His friendly but frozen grin is way larger than a human's and not divided with the bottom part separate like an actual skeleton mandible would be. He doesn't even have distinct top and bottom teeth, it's just one row of comically large teeth-like objects.

So… he's obviously _not_ a skeleton, right? Only, like, the top half of his head looks like a skeleton, everything else, including his body, says _not_ -skeleton.

You were just wrong about that. Poor observational skills in a tense moment and then failure to reassess assumptions. It happens.

...actually, wait.

He said it too, hadn't he? When he introduced himself he said, Sans the _skeleton._

Was that a lie? A misdirection? Or--

Sans looks up and catches you. Apparently your sneaky look had shifted to full-on staring. Again.

Aw, shit.

 _"What?"_ he asks, amused.

You decide to just go for it. "Are you _actually_ a skeleton? You don't look much like a skeleton."

"What makes you think skeleton monsters have to look like human skeletons?"

"That's… a fair point," you concede, deciding to ignore the question evasion. "I'm sorry I keep staring, you're just such a _mystery."_

"Mystery is part of the charm, Kid," he says, looking back down at his work.

You're currently doing research collab in your apartment; books and papers spread out on the kitchen table in front of you both. For the last three hours you've been troubleshooting schematics for a device meant to detect small scale tempo-spacial disturbances. You never would have gotten this far if it wasn't for him, even though he likes to pretend you do all the work.

"Why do you want to be underestimated?" you ask bluntly.

He looks up at you surprised. You realize he thought you hadn't noticed.

When he doesn't say anything you continue, "My best guess? You've been in situations where you'd prefer not to be noticed. Somewhere you weren't safe." You realize as you say it that he's not going to confirm or deny your statement. "It's just, there is so much going on with you and you don't want anyone to see it. I see it, but I don't understand it all."

"Yeah?" he says, forced amusement in his voice, "And what do you see, Kid?" It's a real question though.

You hold his eyes, "Heart," you say, "So much heart. But you're a little bit damaged. You've dealt with a lot of loss in your life. You don't want to get close to people because you don't want to get hurt again, but at the same time you _want_ friends. So you keep choosing friendship.

You know who you are, but you don't think anyone else knows you. And that's intentional--it's just safer. But the truth is, you _want_ to be understood.

And there is a lot more there that I'm not even taping into. You have this self assurance to you, like you know martial arts or something. It's like... a subtle kind of power. I think maybe you hold back for more than just the underestimation. I... I would guess something happened that taught you to use your strength only as a last resort."

You'd think with the lower half of your face frozen you wouldn't be able to express emotion very well, but it's like he has more muscles around his eyesockets to make up for the fact he can't change his smile. He's actually really expressive, if you know how to read it. Right now he's staring at you; eye sockets wide, eyebrows drawn together--alarmed and unhappy.

"Fuck," you say, realizing how uncalled for that just was. "I'm sorry," you shake your head, "I shouldn't have said that."

He doesn't say anything and you both go back to your work. You're feeling shitter and shitter about all those possibly very personal things you just said about him.

"And this person you describe," Sans finally speaks up, "not saying the description resembles anyone in particular, but what would you think of a person like that?"

"Someone like that, or someone similar to that? He sounds amazing," you tell him. "Someone I'd love to spend my time with. Someone I'd love to know more about. But even if I never get to know his secrets, he's someone I could care deeply about."

He's quiet for a beat and a half before softly saying, "Sounds like a lucky guy."

You wake up.

. . .

You walk down the street, Sans next to you. You shift a little bit to nudge his shoulder with yours; you're walking pretty close together.

"You're going to love this place, I know it," you say to him.

"You sure about this Kid?" he looks nervous and hunches his shoulders a little more, hood up, face obscured, hands in his hoodie pockets.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," you say. "This is the best night to do this."

The weather is cool and a little windy. The leaves on the trees have started changing.

The lit sign on the roof reads 'Restaurant In Peace'. A neon sign in the window proclaims 'Open 24/7' and a paper sign on the door announces 'Happy Halloween!'

You walk through the door and pick a booth. Sans slides into the seat across from you. He still looks nervous. He's still trying to hide.

You lean over the table to meet his eye sockets. "You trust me right?" you ask. He nods, the sparks of light in his eyes hold yours. You have his attention. You have his trust. "We're safe tonight," you say softly.

The waitress walks over then and after welcoming you both to 'Restaurant In Peace' she asks Sans, "Dressed up for Halloween, kitten? I love your costume."

"Thanks, I love your costume too," he says. "You're a superhero, right? You're sure saving punks like us from a dull night." Then he winks.

She laughs, "Ooh, I like you. Think you guys are going to be my favorite customers today." She hands you each a menu, "Here you go loves. Give me a holler when you're ready," and she walks away.

You slide your foot over and nudge his slipper with your converse, "Told you it would be fine."

You let him open the menu and stare at it for four seconds before you blurt, "So, what do you think?" You're dying to know.

"Heh. _Kid,_ this place is punderful! I want to order everything on the menu."

"I knew you would love it."

"But, you do remember I can't eat human food, right?"

"I know, but you can have beverages, and they have shakes!"

He turns to the desserts and chuckles, "Judge-mint, Berry-ed Alive, S'more-tal Coil? These are all great. I'm gonna have trouble picking one." He nods his head toward you, "What are you havin'?"

"I'm getting the Burgatory and Sacre-fries because I know that's what you want. I'm going to torture you by eating it in front of you and bragging about how delicious it is."

"Ouch, low blow. Not cool, Kid, not cool," he teases.

"You gunna do something about it?" you goad him.

"I might have a _bone_ to pick with ya."

"Ooh, bah-dum-tssh," you drum the table with imaginary drum sticks. "So bad it's good." The two of you share a smile.

"Hey Kid," he says, "I've got a joke for you." You lean forward in anticipation. "Why does a hamburger have lower energy than a steak?"

"I don't know, why?"

"Because it's in a ground state."

"Hah, _Dude,_ that's _awesome!_ I'm going to have to remember that one to tell Kate. She's gunna love it!"

He looks at you warmly, "Thanks for bringing me here, Kid. It's nice to get out; to see someplace new."

"Yeah, my pleasure."

He goes back to looking at the menu but you keep looking at him. You bite your lip debating, then decide, yeah, it's time to be crazy. "Hey, Sans," you reach over, place your hand on top of his for a moment, like you're asking for all his attention, "I was thinking--"

You wake up.

[Date: September 2, 2017]  
Just had another dream, my heart is racing. There is a sense of excitement in my gut. I liked the dream I was in. Now that I'm awake I have a strong sense of loss. I'm disappointed I woke up. I wish I was still hanging out with him.  
Why are my emotions about him so strong?  
There is something about the way we interact too. I think I might like him? At least, there appears to be evidence that I may be [romantically](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28765107#pagetop) interested in him. Does that makes sense? Maybe it's just a very close [friendship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28751020#pagetop), like my relationship with Kate.  
I suppose I will find out eventually.  
  
  
---  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Warnings:** (Casual) beer drinking, science babble, references to Sans is Ness Theory. Characters discuss spiritual topics like souls and reincarnation.

. . .

"Thanks for keeping me company," you tell Sans as he sits down in the camp chair next to you. "I was going to feel pretty dumb sitting next to this empty chair for the next three hours."

"Well, we couldn't have that." His eyes smirk at you.

"Heh. Uh," you continue, "I thought about bringing food but I didn't know what you like."

He shrugs, "Wouldn't've been able to eat it anyway. Can't eat human food."

You frown. "Like... an allergy?" you ask.

"Like my mouth doesn't open," he states flatly. "Can't put anything in, can't chew."

"Oh," you say surprised. "Uh, what about drinks?"

"Drinks I can do."

"Awesome," you say relieved, "because I brought some delicious craft beers that I wanted to share with you." Then you think for one more second, "That is--uh--if you drink beer--Do you drink beer?--I mean I have other non-alcoholic options too."

He chuckles, "I drink beer." He looks through your selection in the cooler and chooses an imperial stout. Before you can offer him the bottle opener, he just uses his thumb to push the cap off. You're impressed.

When he drinks he puts the top of the bottle right on his teeth and tips his head back. Interesting.

"Permeable to liquids?" you ask.

"Yep."

"Neat."

You think back to the food thing; no solid food ever?

"Not _human_ food," you ask, "as in, there's another kind of food you _can_ eat?"

"Monster food," he answers. "It turns into pure energy once it enters your body, which for me means once it touches my teeth."

"Can you taste it though?"

"Uh... I get hints of flavor."

"Oh," you frown. You'd hate that, food is awesome.

"Yeah," he sighs. He takes another drink of his beer. "Sometimes I just really want a good steak," he admits, "Or a burger. To eat fries with my ketchup."

"That sucks Dude," you say sadly. "At least there are a lot of good drinks out there."

"Yeah. That's true. Thanks for the beer Bud," he raises it towards you in salute. "It's really good."

"Glad you like it," you smile at him.

The two of you fall into companionable silence watching Moon's shadow pass over you. It's pleasant. You think of another thing to ask, "Why do you like astronomy?"

"That's a weird question," he glances at you before looking up again.

"It is? Why?" you turn all your attention to him.

"Why do you like any of the things you like? A lot of times there isn't a good reason; you just do. I like science fiction. Why? I don't know. If you take the exact same story and put it in a fantasy setting I don't like it as much.

"That's a good point," you chuckle, "I wouldn't either." You go back to watching the Sun and think about that. "You know, gender is fucking weird like that too," you add after a bit.

"Is it? Explain it to me," he turns to give you his full attention.

"Uh, sure. I'll try. Uh... to me, gender is similar to how you have a favorite color or a favorite type of music. You don't know why you like it, it's just the way your brain is wired. I'm wired to love the sound of piano, the color purple, a starry night sky. Gender is kind of like that. It just is what it is because that's the way your brain is wired." You shrug, "It doesn't matter if your body matches, how you've been taught to act, whether it makes sense to other people. Someone can tell you your favorite color is green and you just know they're wrong. Like, 'Don't you think I know my own favorite color? And it's not fucking _green.'"_

"That sounds annoying," Sans responds. "I've never had that struggle, my brain and body have always matched. Basically."

"Basically?" you ask, because that sounds intriguing.

"Yeah. Basically," Sans answers, not willing to go into it. You sigh and decide to drop it.

"I've always been a little too close to the center," you admit. "Can't help but notice how poor a fit the gender binary can be." You sigh and shake your head, "Fucking boxes people try to put you in."

"Well, yeah. I do my best to ignore the boxes. I can like pink and blue, skulls and butterflies, poetry and dad jokes and still be a guy. I just let myself like what I like."

"That's a good way to do it." You think about it for a second and add, "It kinda sounds like you get it though; the discomfort of having someone try to shove you in a too small box."

"Yeah, I do get it. ...You know, where I live they aren't like that. Gender isn't wrapped up into two neatly restricting boxes."

"This must seem weird for you then. A new and shittier way to exist."

"Nah, it's not new for me. Shittier though, that's true."

"Yeah," you sigh. "It can really suck when people refuse to acknowledge it. That's where it's _not_ like a favorite color. If someone is like, 'Purple is a dumb favorite color,' then that's annoying, I guess. But if someone is like 'what you think you are isn't a real thing,' it can really make you feel invisible. Like they don't think _you're_ real. It's a basic need of humans--I mean, probably all people, humans and monsters--to be _seen."_

"It's a basic need of everybody."

"You ever watch that movie Avatar? The aliens had this greeting, 'I see you.' I always identified strongly with that."

"Never seen it."

"Oh _Dude,_ if you like science fiction then you need to see it. We're gunna watch it together."

"Sure Kid." It's another long companionable silence before he continues, "I haven't done a lot of thinking about gender but I think a lot about souls. I believe gender is part of the body, not part of the soul."

"Really?! I mean, that makes sense to me, but why do you think that?"

"Ghosts don't have gender. But if a ghost becomes corporeal, then they can have gender."

"Huh. That's cool. Uh, so gender doesn't belong to the soul..." you ask, "What things do?"

"Things that would be true no matter what body your soul was in," Sans answers. "Things core to who you are; like being honest or kind, brave or determined. I think everybody has a few of these but usually one that defines you the most."

"You've really thought about this, haven't you? Does that mean you know what your core things are?"

"I don't know if monster souls are the same as human souls in that way."

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"They don't get a chance at a second body. Monster bodies are just made from their magic. If their body has been destroyed it means their soul has been destroyed."

"Wow... that sucks."

"Yeah."

You wake up.

. . .

[Date: September 9, 2017]  
I've decided I'm going to try to find him.  
  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

"How can you read this?" Sans interrupts your thoughts. You look over. He's examining the notes you jotted down for your collaborative brainstorming session on tempo-spacial structure models.

"That clearly says 'cubic tempo-spacial lattice'," you answer. "How can you not read that?"

"Kid, that most certainly does not say anything you just claimed. Except for maybe the dash. This line looks like it _could_ be a dash."

"Ha ha. Ass," you tease. "How about _you_ write all the notes for us." You don't expect him to actually go for it.

"Alright," he says. "Translate this for me. I'll write it in English." You snort.

"We'll have to work out the joint custody details..." you point out.

"I think were up for the challenge, Scribbles."

You smirk at him. "Okay, _fine."_ Then you read what you'd written outloud. Sans copies everything down in (you'll admit) neater, albeit quirkier, handwriting.

It's literally only 10 minutes before, "Kid, have you seen the notebook?"

"Sans, did you seriously lose it already?"

"No..?"

"I am not helping you find it. I'm going to get myself a beer, sit back, relax, and watch you search for it yourself. This should be entertaining." You're actually quite looking forward to teasing/taunting him about this. You open the fridge and then gape. "Sans, seriously, why is our notebook in the _fridge?"_

"Uh… I can explain that," he answers.

"This better be good."

You wake up.

. . .

[Date: September 11, 2017]  
I told Kate about Sans today. I was so worried she would freak out.  
I shouldn't have been.  
Turns out she had a dream about him. Her exact words were, "I dreamt you introduced me to him last night."  
I say, "Really?"  
"Short skeleton dude in a blue hoodie?"  
"That's him."  
"No way that's a coincidence. Has to be timeline collapse or something."  
She also said she's going to help me find him. She's going to look for evidence of monsters and portals to other worlds while I work on replicating our research. And together we're going to analyze the dreams.  
Needless to say, I have an amazing best friend.  
We're getting close to finding you Sans, I just hope, wherever you are, you're still okay.  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

You finish up another draft of schematics for the detection device. You turn, the words, 'What do you think of this, Sans?' abandoned when you see Sans' face.

He looks unhappy. He's staring at his cup of coffee, eyebrows scrunched together. You've noticed sometimes when he isn't working or focused on you he has a very different disposition.

You walk over and nudge his shoulder with yours. "You look down, Dude. Contemplative." You nod your head to the drink he was staring at, "Are the answers to life, the universe, and everything at the bottom of that coffee cup? Is it talking to you?" you try teasingly.

"Not this time," he says, like it's a bad thing.

"Ha. Okay. Don't sound so disappointed about that. I count nonverbal beverages as a win."

He still doesn't smile and you feel the smirk slide off your face.

"Hey, what's going on Sans?" you ask in concern. He doesn't answer but you're not surprised. Sometimes getting info out of Sans takes a bit more finess and preserverance. You have a laundry list of strategies by now: reading between the lines, element of surprise, teasing, bartering, once even bribery. This time you're going with a more direct and easier to answer question.

"Sans, if it's something I'm doing I want to know. I don't want to hurt you; I especially don't want to _keep_ hurting you. Please tell me, Dude," you beg.

"It's not you Kid. Well, not really," he sighs. After a moment he continues, "Remember when you said you thought I'd lost a lot?" He looks off in the distance. "I used to have these three friends. They taught me what friendship was and how important it is to me. I lost all three of them in the same day." He looks back at you, "I just miss them. You remind me of them sometimes."

What do you even say to that? "I'm sorry you lost your friends dude, that sucks." You mentally register all-three-at-once had to be a car accident or something awful. No wonder it's still fucking him up a bit. "Is there something you want me to not do? You know, to make it a little easier on you?"

"No, Kid, don't change a thing." He pauses and you wait for him to keep going, he almost reluctantly adds, "And it's not really about the memories. It's more a sense of dread. I can't help thinking I'm gunna lose you too." He shakes his head and changes his tone to something more cheerful. "So anyway, now you know: if I get mopey, that's what it's about."

"Mope note noted," you say, "But, I'm not going anywhere, Sans," you add earnestly, "You're stuck with me now."

It doesn't reassure him up like you hoped.

"Sometimes leaving isn't your choice," he states quietly.

You wake up.

. . .

He Had So Many Secrets

To: Kate

Date: September 14, 2017

From: Me

There was a lot he wasn't telling me. Important shit. I think he knew it was all going to end. I'm really starting to worry that something was seriously wrong with his world. I really hope you can find something where you're looking because the research is moving slow and the dreams are making me notice how much I just _didn't_ know.

Anyway, I'm trying to finish my damn colloquium talk for tomorrow. I'm really dragging, I just want to puzzle out Sans and the research we were doing together. I don't want to bother with this shit. Wish I could just skip it.  


. . .

You flip through the notebook for a clean page-- _wait..._ You flip back.

Yep. There's a page missing.

The pages in this notebook come already numbered and there _is no page 65._

You stare at page 67

how many worlds are there?  
  
the kid's world  
the monster world  
suzie's world  
gaster's world  
  
my world  
  
  
  
---  
  
and really wish you could know what Sans wrote on that missing page.

You bite your lip. 

\--Okay, so, what if you did that thing they do in the movies? Where they take a pencil and shade the page so the paper pressed in by the pencil is lighter and reveals the hidden words?

Is that going too far?

  


Dammit, you just _really_ want to know.

You do it.

  


Huh. Well, that's interesting.

. . .

You walk up to the stage and plug the VGA cord into your laptop.

It's your turn to informally present your thesis topic to the rest of the department at the weekly public colloquium. Anyone can come to the events but it's usually just the faculty and students from hard sciences here.

You know it's ridiculous to hope for it, but you search the room for one face in particular. The 200 seat room is about a quarter full; none of sixty-some faces is the one you're looking for.

The lights go down around the room and you boot up your powerpoint. You announce your name, advisor, and project title, then, just as you're about to start, you notice movement in the back corner. There is a figure leaning casually against the wall who wasn't there a second ago. He winks at you from under his hood.

You bite your lower lip to try to keep the goofy grin off your face.

It doesn't work.

But you don't want to accidentally draw attention to him so you try to look away.

You realize this might be harder than anticipated.

"Eh-hem," you clear your throat, finally manage to tone your smile down and start, "We like to think we know what reality is. But the truth is, if we were just a simulation in someone else's 'universe program', we might never even know it.

If programmed well enough, and run on incredibly powerful computers, our simulated reality could be indistinguishable from "true" reality. This theory of reality, that the Universe we know is all just someone else's simulation, is known as Simulation Theory.

As you all know, in order for a potential explanation of natural phenomena to qualify as a theory it has to be testable. How well does it explain? How well does it predict?

My research is based on the hypothesis that Simulation Theory can be tested.

Maybe someday we'll be able to answer the question, 'Are we in someone else's video game?'"

You glance back to Sans and he holds your eyes with his haunted ones. You're surprised at the strength of the emotion you see there. This thought bothers him. You wish you could reassure him, 'don't worry, Dude, we'll figure this out.' But you're not sure that's a promise you could keep.

You try to refocus and turn back to your audience, "Uh, there are two ways we could recognize our reality as a program. The first is if we identify glitches or signatures; aspects of our reality that do not fit in any sensible universe.

An example of this could be synchronicity; the lining up of many improbable coincidences which don't have causality but do have meaning.

The second is to look for limitations.

In programming science we know there are always restrictions to the detail we can give our program. A simulated universe cannot be unlimited, as it has to function inside a computer with limitations.

There will be limitations on size; a simulated universe cannot be infinite. There will be limitations on detail; a simulated spacetime cannot be a continuous set of points, it must be, at some scale, a set of discrete points. And a simulated universe cannot have infinite possibilities; it must function inside a set of rigidly defined laws and constraints.

Interestingly, the more we learn about our Universe the more we realize how firmly it is based on mathematical laws.

For example, black holes were mathematically predicted by Karl Schwartzchild with Albert Einstein's vacuum equations in 1915, long before a black hole candidate was detected (1971). In the past 40 years more and more support for black holes has been found including the very exciting observation of two black holes merging (the first was recorded in September 2015).

Witnessing these binary black hole mergers was finally possible when the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory, or LIGO, detected another mathematical prediction of Einstein's, gravitational waves which are ripples in spacetime. Spacetime is the fabric of our Universe, but mathematics is the language that describes it.

Now, rigid adherence to mathematical laws doesn't seem particularly odd for a natural universe and is not indicative alone that ours is a simulated one.

Simulation Theory must accurately predict things odder than that. My research focuses on the predicted discrete point structure of the framework of our Universe, spacetime.

Much like a computer image, at a small enough scale, is revealed to be an array of square shaped points called pixels, a simulated spacetime, at a small enough scale, must be revealed as a composition of a distinct, and limited in number, set of points.

My research is theoretical but I use astrophysical data to probe the structure of spacetime by analyzing cosmic ray data; energies and distribution.

Cosmic rays are extremely energetic particles originating from supernova and active galactic nuclei. Their energies are so high, magnitudes higher than anything we can create on Earth, that they tug at the structure of the medium through which they travel, spacetime.

This interaction with spacetime can affect the distribution of energies and could reveal an underlying structure of our Universe's framework. This is analogous to how you can discern many things about the structure and density of a substance based on how light is refracted through it.

If a spacetime structure emerges that indicates discrete points instead of continuous it would strongly support the possibility that our Universe is a fabricated one with the expected limitations.

So, why do we even care about this question?

You could say, regardless of whether our Universe is natural or simulated, it is real to us in every way that matters, and that is true.

But, if Simulation Theory turns out to be the case it brings with it a very interesting set of possibilities.

Like, couldn't simulated minds hypothetically be immortal? Can we begin to explain things previously in the realm of religion, such as afterlife, with science?

One of the most interesting possibilities, in my opinion is that, if our Universe is a simulation, then the ones simulating us could be simulating other universes parallel to ours."

Your eyes swing back to Sans and you conclude, "Could we then communicate with another universe if we were both running on the same platform?" He smiles at you, his worried expression gone.

Then he nods and disappears.

You feel bummed he can't stay. Then you feel bad for thinking that. The only way he could stick around is if he was human. You like him just the way he is. 

It's fine. You'll see him later tonight anyway.

Looking back to the audience, you finish, "Thanks for having me today. Any questions?"

You wake up. 

Okay, this is weird...

To: Kate

Date: September 16, 2017

From: Me

I dreamed he came to my colloquium and the part about reality being a simulation _really_ bothered him. I think he really believes it. Maybe he has evidence in his universe that we're all just in a simulation.

Fuckin a.

. . .

"I have a research partner back home too," Sans says casually, as if he shares information like this often. "She's a little like you; glasses, indecipherable handwriting, awkward combo of self-depreciation and confidence. I think you'd get along."

"Well, she sounds awesome." You have to clench your teeth against the impulse to ask when you'll get to meet her. You've tried something like that before... It didn't go well. 

And then Sans stopped talking about his brother for a whole week. It's just isn't worth it. Papyrus stories are amazing. It was a tragic loss.

"She asks about you," Sans adds, like he's thanking you for not asking to meet her.

"Oh, so you _do_ tell your other friends about me?"

"Just Alphys."

You wake up.

[Date: September 18, 2017]  
Sans was keeping so much from everyone. That had to be hard on him; the secrets, the lies, the solitude.  
Communication is so important. Always important.  
But essential for our research. What were we trying to do? Why were we doing it?  
Shouldn't I have that information, Sans? Why wouldn't you tell me? Why was it so hard for you to open up?  
I don't even know what I would do if it were happening now. I really need to [know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28680124#pagetop) this stuff but don't I also [care](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28830540#pagetop) about why he doesn't want to talk?  
  
  
---


	6. Romantically

. . .

"How can you read this?" Sans interrupts your thoughts. You look over. He's examining the notes you jotted down for your collaborative brainstorming session on tempo-spacial structure models.

"That clearly says 'cubic tempo-spacial lattice'," you answer. "How can you not read that?"

"Kid, that most certainly does not say anything you just claimed. Except for maybe the dash. This line looks like it _could_ be a dash."

"Ha ha. Ass," you tease. "How about _you_ write all the notes for us from now on." You don't expect him to actually go for it.

"Alright," he says. "Translate this for me. I'll write it in English."

You snort in amusement then point out, "We'll have to work out the joint custody details..."

"I think were up for the challenge, Scribbles."

You smirk at him. "Okay, _fine."_ Then you read what you'd written out-loud. Sans copies everything down in (you'll admit it) neater albeit quirkier handwriting.

It's literally only 10 minutes before, "Kid, have you seen the notebook?"

"Sans, did you seriously lose it already?"

"No..?"

"I am not helping you find it. I'm going to get myself a beer, sit back, relax, and watch you search for it yourself. This should be entertaining." You're actually quite looking forward to teasing/taunting him about this. You open the fridge and then gape. "Sans, seriously, why is our notebook in the _fridge?"_

"Uh... I can explain that," he answers.

"This better be good."

You wake up.

. . .

[Date: September 8, 2017]  
I told Kate about Sans today. I was so worried she would freak out.  
I shouldn't have been.  
Turns out she had a dream about him. Her exact words were, "I dreamt you introduced me to him last night."  
I say, "Really?"  
"Adorable chubby skeleton in a blue hoodie?"  
"That's him."  
"No way that's a coincidence. Has to be timeline collapse or something."  
She also said she's going to help me find him. She's going to look for evidence of monsters and portals to other worlds while I work on replicating our research.  
Needless to say, I have an amazing best friend.  
We're getting close to finding you Sans, I just hope, wherever you are, you're still okay.  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

You finish up another draft of schematics for the detection device. You turn, the words, 'What do you think of this, Sans?' abandoned when you see Sans' face.

He looks unhappy. He's staring at his cup of coffee, eyebrows scrunched together. You've noticed sometimes when he isn't working or focused on you he has a very different disposition.

You walk over and nudge his shoulder gently with yours. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Just thinking Kid, don't worry about it."

You sigh, sometimes getting info out of Sans takes perseverance. You have a laundry list of strategies by now: reading between the lines, element of surprise, teasing, bartering, once even bribery. This time you're going with a more direct and easier to answer question. A question he'll answer because he cares about you.

"Is it something I did?" you ask. "We're still learning each other, I might be doing something or saying something that bothers you without knowing it. I really don't want to accidentally hurt you. Please tell me, okay?"

He lets out a long breath. "You are doing something that bothers me, but I don't want you to stop."

You're confused. And when Sans lets the pause linger you start to worry that's all you're going to get. "Sans, what am I doing?" you nudge.

"Being my friend," he says. Your eyes go wide. "Remember when you said you thought I'd lost a lot?" He looks off in the distance. "I used to have these three friends. They taught me what friendship was and how important it is to me. I lost all three of them in the same day." He looks back at you, "I just miss them. You remind me of them sometimes."

What do you even say to that? "Shit, that's terrible. Do you... want to talk about it?"

"No. It was a long time ago." After a moment he almost reluctantly adds, "And it's not really about the memories. It's more a sense of dread. I can't help thinking I'm gunna lose you too."

You nod. That worry makes sense to you. "It might take a long time to stop being afraid of losing more," you say, "I'll do my best to help."

"Heh. Thanks Kiddo." 

You wake up.

. . .

You flip through the notebook for a clean page-- _wait..._ You flip back.

Yep. There's a page missing.

The pages in this notebook come already numbered and there _is no page 65._

You stare at page 67

how many worlds are there?  
  
the kid's world  
the monster world  
suzie's world  
gaster's world  
  
my world  
  
  
  
---  
  
and really wish you could know what Sans wrote on that missing page.

You bite your lip. 

\--Okay, so, what if you did that thing they do in the movies? Where they take a pencil and shade the page so the paper pressed in by the pencil is lighter and reveals the hidden words?

Is that going too far?

  


Dammit, you just _really_ want to know.

You do it.

  


Huh. Well, that's interesting.

. . .

Help me Obi Wan Kate-nobi

To: Kate

Date: September 11, 2017

From: Me

So something different happened today and I totally want your brain in on helping me analyze it. I got a new memory. While I was awake. I was walking home under the starry sky and I remembered a similar walk with Sans. I stopped to close my eyes so I could focus on it and it wasn't as clear as my dream memories, but it was more obviously not-my-brain-making-shit-up.

Anyway, this was the memory.

"You're a little down today," I say, intentionally not making it a question.

He looks at me and, after a moment, surprises me by saying, "I'm thinking about how much I'm going to miss ya, Stardust."

I hold his eyes and don't say anything for a long moment. Then with a sad smile I say, "I'm here now."

And that's it. What does that even mean? Did he know it was going to end? How could he have known that? Help!

. . .

[Date: September 12, 2017]  
Sans, where are you? I want to be in this universe where we know each other. I want to find you.  
Maybe I need to start [searching](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28830483#pagetop). There had to be a portal to your world at one point, maybe it's still here. I think with Kate's help and the memories I might be able to find you.  
But... you kept so many secrets. I'm worried I can't depend solely on the memories to show me what happened; to know what you knew. Maybe it's the [research](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28830270#pagetop) that I need.  
Truth is, I'm really worried that wherever you are, you aren't safe.  
  
  
---  
  
  
  
  



	7. Ridiculous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Warnings:** References to mental illness.

. . .

Whatever it was, it's over now. This ended up being one of your worst semesters ever but you got through. You finally had to admit to everyone you needed help. You even spent a little time at a mental hospital, but you're doing better now.

They gave you sleeping meds but after a few nights you stopped taking them. You couldn't stand the thought that you might miss something.

You kept it in perspective though, like a new hobby. Hanging out with your imaginary monster friend in your dreams can be a hobby, right?

Regardless, you made it.

Sometime early November, though, you stopped having the dreams.

Everyone just accepts your moping is part of the depression. You can't tell anyone the truth.

You miss Sans.  
You're hurting.  
If feels like you're dealing with the death of a friend.

But you are dealing.

You picked up a new hobby, much to the dismay of your friends and family. But it eases the pain every time you get one of them to laugh. You're getting better at telling your jokes and Kate suggested you try stand up. You're going to do it.

Sans may be gone, but when you're doing this, it feels like he lives on in you.


	8. Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Warnings:** Reference to mental illness and a mental hospital.

. . .

You lay on your sides, facing each other, hands meeting between you. His hand covers your hand protectively, his fingers rest in the spaces between your fingers. He slowly blinks with heavy tired lids. Your insides are mush because he's so freaking adorable.

You wish you could just hold this moment forever. "I love watching you fall asleep," you say.

"I've noticed, Weirdo," he sounds amused, voice warm with affection.

"You like it," you're a bit smug about it.

"Yep," he admits easily, "You're my weirdo, Stardust."

He can't see your smirk, his eyes are shut. The smile slides off your face as you think about what comes next. "I don't wanna fall asleep. I hate dreaming. I always have the same nightmare."

Sans opens his eyes long enough to say, "I keep on having dreams that I'm Iron Man. They always end when the armor falls off and underneath I'm just Stark naked."

You chuckle, "Heh, that's a good one."

Even though you don't want them to, your eyelids drift shut.

You fall asleep.

You wake up.

"I hate this dream," you say.

You look around the small bare room. You miss your warm apartment with Sans.

There's a knock at the door.

A woman pokes her head in without waiting for a response, "Wake up, hun, it's time for your meds."


	9. Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Science babble.

. . .

Yeah, but seriously...

To: Kate

Date: September 14, 2017

From: Me

I agree it's sort of simultaneously adorable and hilarious that he apparently called me 'Stardust,' but seriously Kate, stop calling me Stardust. Not only does it feel a little demeaning, I think it was something special. Something I put up with just for him.

Anyway, I'm trying to finish my damn colloquium talk for tomorrow. I'm really dragging, I just want to puzzle out Sans and the research we were doing together. I don't want to bother with this shit. Wish I could just skip it.  


. . .

You walk up to the stage and plug the VGA cord into your laptop.

It's your turn to informally present your thesis topic to the rest of the department at the weekly public colloquium. Anyone can come to the events but it's usually just the faculty and students from hard sciences here.

You know it's ridiculous to hope for it, but you search the room for one face in particular. The 200 seat room is about a quarter full; none of sixty-some faces is the one you're looking for.

The lights go down around the room and you power up your powerpoint. You announce your name, advisor, and project title, then, just as you're about to start, you notice movement in the back corner. There is a figure leaning casually against the wall who wasn't there a second ago. He winks at you from under his hood.

You bite your lower lip to try to keep the goofy grin off your face.

It doesn't work.

But you don't want to accidentally draw attention to him so you try to look away.

You realize this might harder than anticipated.

"Eh-hem," you clear your throat, finally manage to tone down your smile and start, "We like to think we know what reality is. But the truth is, if we were just a simulation in someone else's 'universe program', we might never even know it.

If programmed well enough, and run on incredibly powerful computers, our simulated reality could be indistinguishable from "true" reality. This theory of reality, that the Universe we know is all just someone else's simulation, is known as Simulation Theory.

As you all know, in order for a potential explanation of natural phenomena to qualify as a theory it has to be testable. How well does it explain? How well does it predict?

My research is based on the hypothesis that Simulation Theory can be tested.

That maybe someday we'll be able to answer the question, 'Are we in someone else's video game?'"

You glance back to Sans and he holds your eyes with his haunted ones. You're surprised at the strength of the emotion you see there. Something about your talk bothers him. You wish you could reassure him, 'don't worry, we'll figure this out together.' But you can't be sure that's a promise you could keep.

You try to refocus and turn back to your audience, "Uh, there are two ways we could recognize our reality as a program. The first is if we identify glitches or signatures; aspects of our reality that do not fit in any sensible universe.

An example of this could be synchronicity; the lining up of many improbable coincidences which don't have causality but do have meaning.

The second way we could recognize our Universe as a simulation is to look for limitations.

In programming science we know there are always restrictions to the detail we can give our program. A simulated universe cannot be unlimited, as it has to function inside a computer with limitations.

There will be limitations on size; a simulated universe cannot be infinite. There will be limitations on detail; a simulated spacetime cannot be a continuous set of points, it must be, at some scale, a set of discrete points. And a simulated universe cannot have infinite possibilities; it must function inside a set of rigidly defined laws and constraints.

Interestingly, the more we learn about our Universe the more we realize how firmly it is based on mathematical laws.

For example, black holes were mathematically predicted by Karl Schwartzchild with Albert Einstein's vacuum equations in 1915, long before a black hole candidate was detected (1971). In the past 40 years more and more support for black holes has been found including the very exciting observation of two black holes merging (the first was recorded in September 2015).

Witnessing these binary black hole mergers was finally possible when the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory, or LIGO, detected another mathematical prediction of Einstein's, gravitational waves which are ripples in spacetime. Spacetime is the fabric of our Universe, but mathematics is the language that describes it.

Now, rigid adherence to mathematical laws doesn't seem particularly odd for a natural universe and is not indicative alone that ours is a simulated one.

Simulation Theory must accurately predict things odder than that. My research focuses on the predicted discrete point structure of the framework of our Universe, spacetime.

Much like a computer image, at a small enough scale, is revealed to be an array of square shaped points called pixels, a simulated spacetime, at a small enough scale, must be revealed as a composition of a distinct, and limited in number, set of points.

My research is theoretical but I use astrophysical data to probe the structure of spacetime by analyzing cosmic ray data; energies and distribution.

Cosmic rays are extremely energetic particles originating from supernova and active galactic nuclei. Their energies are so high, magnitudes higher than anything we can create on Earth, that they tug at the structure of the medium through which they travel, spacetime.

This interaction with spacetime can affect the distribution of energies and could reveal an underlying structure of our Universe's framework. This is analogous to how you can discern many things about the structure and density of a substance based on how light is refracted through it.

If a spacetime structure emerges that indicates discrete points, instead of continuous, it would strongly support the possibility that our Universe is a fabricated one with the expected limitations.

So, why do we even care about this question?

You could say, regardless of whether our Universe is natural or simulated, it is real to us in every way that matters, and that is true.

But, if Simulation Theory turns out to be the case it brings with it a very interesting set of possibilities.

Like, couldn't simulated sentient minds hypothetically be immortal? Can we begin to explain things previously in the realm of religion, such as afterlife, with science?

One of the most interesting possibilities, in my opinion is that, if our Universe is a simulation, then the ones simulating us could be simulating other universes parallel to ours."

Your eyes swing back to Sans and you conclude, "Could we then communicate with another universe if we were both running on the same platform?" He smiles at you, his worried expression gone.

Then he nods and disappears.

You feel bummed he can't stay. Then you feel bad for thinking that. The only way he could stick around is if he was human. You like him just the way he is. 

It's fine. You'll see him later tonight anyway.

Looking back to the audience, you finish, "Thanks for having me today. Any questions?"

You wake up.

Okay, this is weird...

To: Kate

Date: September 16, 2017

From: Me

I dreamed he came to my colloquium and the part about reality being a simulation _really_ bothered him. I think he really believes it. Maybe he has evidence in his universe that we're all just in a simulation.

Fuckin a.

. . .

"I have a research partner back home too," Sans says casually, as if he shares information like this often. "She's a little like you; glasses, indecipherable handwriting, awkward combo of self-deprecation and confidence. I think you'd get along."

"Well, she sounds awesome." You have to clench your teeth against the impulse to ask when you'll get to meet her. You've tried something like that before... It didn't go well. 

And then Sans stopped talking about his brother for a whole week. It's just isn't worth it. Papyrus stories are amazing. It was a tragic loss.

"She asks about you," Sans adds, like he's thanking you for not asking to meet her.

"Oh, so you _do_ tell your other friends about me?"

"Just Alphys."

You wake up.

[Date: September 18, 2017]  
Sans, were you keeping stuff from everyone? Did you have anyone to talk to?  
Communication is so important; not just for your own health and well-being, but for our research too.  
You must have had reasons behind the secrecy: why did you do it?  
What would I even do in this situation now? Push you to talk more? Or would I wait until you were ready? I don't even know...  
It's like asking, which is more important: [communication](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28705360#pagetop) or [compassion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062303/chapters/29879193#pagetop)?  
  
  
  
---  
  
  
  
  



	10. Searching

. . .

Grr. Why won't your office mate just fucking leave? You look at the time again--it's already after _eleven._ Normally by this time you'd've been hanging with Sans for a whole hour.

You're still getting some research done but it would be _so much better_ if he was with you.

You freeze for a second. ...now that you're thinking about it, do you... miss him? You're feeling a bit ...angsty... about having to wait...

Wait _a still unknown_ amount of time.

Alright, fuck this. You turn your chair around and try _to do something_ about the situation. "Hey, Jim, you're here pretty late; got something big going on?"

He looks up, rubs a hand down his face, "Yeah, probably going pull an all-nighter tonight. Waited too long to finish up my thesis. Our advisor is expecting it Monday."

You feel your hopes fall. "That's rough, dude," you say, "Good luck with that." You turn back to your work.

Then you just stare at it for several minutes doing nothing. You're having a really hard time focusing on anything past your disappointment about not seeing Sans.

Maybe you could find an alternative loca-- _ah fuck._ You're a fucking _idiot._

You pick up your phone; your texts with Sans are still pulled up:

sans  
  
**8/25/17** 10:15 PM  
sans: coast clear yet?  
  
Me: My office mate isn't leaving   
  


You send him your idea.

sans  
  
**8/25/17** 11:05 PM  
Me: I just realized something. We could totally do this research at my apartment. I live alone and we both have laptops.  
  
Me: I feel like an idiot right now.  
  
Me: How does your teleportation work? Can I just give you the coordinates?  
  
sans: can't teleport into a house I've never been in  
  
sans: but I can teleport onto the roof of the physics building  
  
sans: think we can get to your place without being seen?  
  
Me: Yeah! There is a path through the woods. No one will be on it this late.  
  
sans: let's do it then  
  
Me: I'll pack up and meet you on the roof.  
  
sans: cool  
  


You've almost got everything packed up when something else occurs to you…

sans  
  
Me: OMG just realized if you can teleport into my apartment after you see it we can totally work during the day.  
  
Me: Mind blown right now dude.  
  


An excited feeling has you hopping up stairs two at a time-- _now you can hang out more often._

Well, hypothetically anyway. It's certainly up to him.

You get to the top of the stairs and use your key to get onto the roof. Sans is already here.

When you see him your brain says _fucking finally._ "Hey," you say out-loud with a stupid huge smile. 

"Hey yourself, Bud," Sans says and seems happy to see you too.

You lead him down the back stairs and onto the woods path. It's really fucking dark--just a crescent moon tonight (kinda the point but _fuck_ it's hard to see); you keep stumbling.

"You can't see, can you?" Sans asks after the fifth time you kick a root and swear under your breath.

"You _can?!"_ you ask surprised.

"Heh. Yeah Goggles," he says like _obviously._ "So, how is it that, out if the two of us, the one with no eyeballs has better vision?"

"You know what, Jerk, it's fuckin dark. My vision isn't _that_ bad." Of course it would be that moment that a root finally wins and you lose your balance completely. _"Oh shit--"_

Sans pivots quickly and catches you against his body. "Careful there Specs," he says amused.

His body is really solid. And warm. Both of these facts surprise you.

You tip your head up and your eyes meet his-- _wow, you're close._ Your face heats up and you realize something important--suddenly and vocally--"Oh my god--I like you."

His eyes go wide and then they go smirky. "Is that right, Slick?" he chuckles.

Your stomach feels a little funny. "Yeah..." Wait, scratch that, your stomach feels _very_ funny. "Like _wow._ I'm seriously fucking crushing on you."

You realize you are still literally _in his arms_ and extract yourself from him--a little too forcefully. You both wobble--he has to grab you around the waist to keep you balanced.

And... you're back in his arms. At least now you're standing full height, meaning you look down at his five foot and change frame instead of up. Thankfully, _this time_ he releases you quickly.

You wrap your arms around your over-reactive gut, turn your head away, avoid his eyes. "Sorry," you continue, "that's probably really fucking awkward, having someone say that right to your face." You squeeze your eyes shut, "Such a fuckin weirdo," you whisper-scold yourself.

 _"No_ \--it's fine," he says. You look over, and you just _know_ your expression's gotta be pitiful. And hopeful. Piti-hope-ful. "I mean, you're definitely a weirdo," he continues, "I'm not disputing _that_."

Your lips tip up on one side. Hard to be that worried when he makes _weirdo_ sound like an endearment.

The two of you turn and start walking again, but you can't keep yourself from glancing over. He sees the motion, meets your eyes for a second. It's surprisingly... not awkward. You take a relieved breath; apparently this won't be weird.

"You being a weirdo is a good thing," he adds conversationally. "Means I get to call you Weirdo." He pauses for a second then adds, softer, "And it means I'm not the only weirdo."

You manage a full smile, "Okay, two weirdos then." With a deep breath you change the subject, _"So_. What's with you and the nicknames anyway?"

He shrugs, "It's fun," gives you a sly look, "Want me to stop, _Punk?"_

You laugh. "Why are you even asking? You know you're just gunna keep doing it."

"Heh, yeah, probably," he says. His eyes smile at you.

"I'm gunna take this as an invitation, you know, to give as good as I get," you pause then add, _"Bonehead."_

He laughs, "Wouldn't have it any other way."

The feeling in your gut proclaims itself _loudly_ once more. Seriously, how _the fuck_ did you miss the fact that you're bananas about him? Hindsight is an asshole.

You wake up.

[Date: September 13, 2017]  
Wow, I fell for him really fast. What was that? We met the 5th and I was confessing my crush 20 days later. Damn.  
It makes sense though. This summer I finally started feeling ready to date again.  
The way things had gone with the ex, and the way they had ended... I'd needed time to heal. But two years, and following Kate halfway across the country, has done serious work.  
I remember thinking in early June, 'If I meet someone I should go for it.'  
Then apparently I met Sans.  
Sans who is wicked smart, clever, funny, adorable, sweet, and basically everything else I'm fucking hoping for. I then spend a ridiculous amount of time with him.  
So, yeah, it makes sense. I just hope I didn't make a fucking fool of myself. If I did, I bet I'm about to watch it in technicolor replay.  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

"I found your sock in the couch and that made sense," you say to Sans. "Then I found your sock on the kitchen table… and that was weird. But Sans," you pick up the sock you're staring at and remove it from the fridge, "Now I think you're just fuckin with me."

"Hey there," he says, his tone is mock offense but his eyes smirk like admission. "Don't you think it'd be good to ask before jumping to conclusions? You're clever, Sherlock, but without all the information..." he shrugs like his point's been made.

"So you're saying you have an explanation for this?" you hold up the offending garment in disbelief.

"Of course," he says. You don't voice the question you really want to ask; is this really just a quirky way to flirt with you?

Before you push for this alleged explanation, there's a knock at the door. "Dammit, Kate's here early."

"Gotta go," Sans says moving to his designated teleport square meter which you've outlined in painters tape. He has to teleport into it (to make sure he doesn't teleport into _you_ or some object you left laying around) but he doesn't actually have to teleport _out_ of it and you wonder why he does.

"You're such a lucky Punk," you say, "Scott free on this one." 

"Oh. Where's the faith, Buddy?" He reaches his square, turns toward you and winks. He's doing a bad job convincing you this isn't intentional.

You're doing a bad job convincing him to stop.

Then it hits you; he probably teleports out this way for _you._ It gives the disappearing-from-the-room-thing a little more ceremony; less jarring then him just being suddenly-not-there.

"Are you coming back tonight?" you ask and try to ignore the fact that your tone is definitely not casual enough. "I've got homework but you could hang out and work on stuff too."

There's a pause that goes just a second too long; Sans seems a little too good at reading your reactions. He must be able to see just how ridiculously hard you've fallen for him but he still says, "Sure," in a soft voice just before the silence gets painful.

Then he's gone.

You answer the door right after Kate's second knock. 

"What took you so long?" she asks as she rolls her wheelchair into the room.

"Well, you're a little _early,"_ you say. "And you don't want me answering the door in my underwear, do you?" The second statement is irrelevant and intentionally misleading. Apparently you're picking up bad habits from Sans.

"Were you in your underwear because you were having crazy sex with your new lover?" Kate asks.

"No," you say surprised. "I'm not dating anyone right now Kate."

"You sure you want to go with that?" she raises an eyebrow and points behind you. "There's a sock hanging from your light?"

"What?!" But sure enough, there is Sans' sock dangling from the chandelier above the kitchen table. "That's not what it looks like," you say unconvincingly.

You wake up.

So...

To: Kate

Date: September 14, 2017

From: Me

I'm starting to think Sans and I might have been a thing.

Fuckin a.

. . .

You're laying on your stomach, homework set up next to you. Your apartment is studio-style so you can see the entire place from where you are; which happens to be on your bed in the back corner of the room. You've angled your body so you can see Sans at his seat on the couch.

You take a deep breath. Then you execute your plan.

You bend your knees so your feet are up. You casually kick them around like it's a subconscious thing.

He notices much faster than you thought he would.

"Are those my socks?" he asks surprised. You made sure they were easy to see by pulling them up as high as they could go and wearing gym shorts.

"Yeah," you say with a shrug, "you kept leaving them around so I figured they were free to claim." You continue to kick your feet around and watch him watch his socks. "Does this _bother_ you?" you ask. You do not manage to keep the smirk off your face.

"It's a bit… distracting," he admits. After a moment he adds, "I think I'd like those back, Twinkle Toes."

"Would you?" you ask amused.

You move to sit on the edge of the bed. His eyes keep glancing back to your feet, almost like he can't help it.

"Okay," you say taking one off. You hold it out to him.

His eyes widen. Slowly he sets aside his work, gets up, walks over to you.

He reaches out to take the sock but at the last second you pull the sock out of his grasp and hold it away from him.

"Real funny, Kid," he says, "Whatcha playing at, Sassafras?" His tone goes for light and doesn't quite hit its mark.

"Well…" you answer, "I quite like them actually. I'm not going to give them up without a fight."

"This is a fight you don't win, Slugger."

"Wanna bet?" you push.

He gives you a look that has you feeling warm all over. 

It says _challenge accepted._

He grabs the back of your knees and pulls. 

"Whoa," you say as you fall onto your back, your butt mostly off the bed. He easily reaches down to grab your wrist and reclaim his sock. He stands back up and looks a bit smug.

You lean up, slide your butt back on the bed. You have a choice to make here. This is working even better than you expected; if you keep going this way something might actually [happen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13061163/chapters/29877405#pagetop) tonight. Is that what you want? Or should you give him his other sock [back](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/29143716#pagetop) and count this tease a success?


	11. Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Science babble.

. . .

"Okay, okay," you concede, "you can have your socks back." You slide the other sock off and hand it to him.

"Smart choice Kiddo," he teases, hiding them away in his pocket. His socks were driving you nuts before, but now you're really sad to see them go.

He heads pack to his spot on the couch and you both start working again. You can't keep from glancing at him though and sometimes you catch him looking at you too. A burst of nervous energy warms your stomach every time it happens and you seem to be lingering in the contact a little longer each time.

There's something here, isn't there? This isn't just you, is it?

You wake up.

. . .

[Date: September 15, 2017]  
I skipped my colloquium talk. Well, I canceled it. It was supposed to happen today. All day I felt weird though. I think I made the wrong choice.  
I'm also starting to think my research might be essential if I want to find Sans.  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

You walk up to the stage and plug the VGA cord into your laptop.

It's your turn to informally present your thesis topic to the rest of the department at the weekly public colloquium. Anyone can come to the events but it's usually just the faculty and students from hard sciences here.

You know it's ridiculous to hope for it, but you search the room for one face in particular. The 200 seat room is about a quarter full; none of sixty-some faces is the one you're looking for.

The lights go down around the room and you power up your powerpoint. You announce your name, advisor, and project title, then, just as you're about to start, you notice movement in the back corner. There is a figure leaning casually against the wall who wasn't there a second ago. He winks at you from under his hood.

You bite your lower lip to try to keep the goofy grin off your face.

It doesn't work.

But you don't want to accidentally draw attention to him so you try to look away.

You realize this might harder than anticipated.

"Eh-hem," you clear your throat, finally manage to tone down your smile and start, "We like to think we know what reality is. But the truth is, if we were just a simulation in someone else's 'universe program', we might never even know it.

If programmed well enough, and run on incredibly powerful computers, our simulated reality could be indistinguishable from "true" reality. This theory of reality, that the Universe we know is all just someone else's simulation, is known as Simulation Theory.

As you all know, in order for a potential explanation of natural phenomena to qualify as a theory it has to be testable. How well does it explain? How well does it predict?

My research is based on the hypothesis that Simulation Theory can be tested.

That maybe someday we'll be able to answer the question, 'Are we in someone else's video game?'"

You glance back to Sans and he holds your eyes with his haunted ones. You're surprised at the strength of the emotion you see there. Something about your talk bothers him. You wish you could reassure him, 'don't worry, we'll figure this out together.' But you can't be sure that's a promise you could keep.

You try to refocus and turn back to your audience, "Uh, there are two ways we could recognize our reality as a program. The first is if we identify glitches or signatures; aspects of our reality that do not fit in any sensible universe.

An example of this could be synchronicity; the lining up of many improbable coincidences which don't have causality but do have meaning.

The second way we could recognize our Universe as a simulation is to look for limitations.

In programming science we know there are always restrictions to the detail we can give our program. A simulated universe cannot be unlimited, as it has to function inside a computer with limitations.

There will be limitations on size; a simulated universe cannot be infinite. There will be limitations on detail; a simulated spacetime cannot be a continuous set of points, it must be, at some scale, a set of discrete points. And a simulated universe cannot have infinite possibilities; it must function inside a set of rigidly defined laws and constraints.

Interestingly, the more we learn about our Universe the more we realize how firmly it is based on mathematical laws.

For example, black holes were mathematically predicted by Karl Schwartzchild with Albert Einstein's vacuum equations in 1915, long before a black hole candidate was detected (1971). In the past 40 years more and more support for black holes has been found including the very exciting observation of two black holes merging (the first was recorded in September 2015).

Witnessing these binary black hole mergers was finally possible when the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory, or LIGO, detected another mathematical prediction of Einstein's, gravitational waves which are ripples in spacetime. Spacetime is the fabric of our Universe, but mathematics is the language that describes it.

Now, rigid adherence to mathematical laws doesn't seem particularly odd for a natural universe and is not indicative alone that ours is a simulated one.

Simulation Theory must accurately predict things odder than that. My research focuses on the predicted discrete point structure of the framework of our Universe, spacetime.

Much like a computer image, at a small enough scale, is revealed to be an array of square shaped points called pixels, a simulated spacetime, at a small enough scale, must be revealed as a composition of a distinct, and limited in number, set of points.

My research is theoretical but I use astrophysical data to probe the structure of spacetime by analyzing cosmic ray data; energies and distribution.

Cosmic rays are extremely energetic particles originating from supernova and active galactic nuclei. Their energies are so high, magnitudes higher than anything we can create on Earth, that they tug at the structure of the medium through which they travel, spacetime.

This interaction with spacetime can affect the distribution of energies and could reveal an underlying structure of our Universe's framework. This is analogous to how you can discern many things about the structure and density of a substance based on how light is refracted through it.

If a spacetime structure emerges that indicates discrete points, instead of continuous, it would strongly support the possibility that our Universe is a fabricated one with the expected limitations.

So, why do we even care about this question?

You could say, regardless of whether our Universe is natural or simulated, it is real to us in every way that matters, and that is true.

But, if Simulation Theory turns out to be the case it brings with it a very interesting set of possibilities.

Like, couldn't simulated sentient minds hypothetically be immortal? Can we begin to explain things previously in the realm of religion, such as afterlife, with science?

One of the most interesting possibilities, in my opinion is that, if our Universe is a simulation, then the ones simulating us could be simulating other universes parallel to ours."

Your eyes swing back to Sans and you conclude, "Could we then communicate with another universe if we were both running on the same platform?" He smiles at you, his worried expression gone.

Then he nods and disappears.

You feel bummed he can't stay. Then you feel bad for thinking that. The only way he could stick around is if he was human. You like him just the way he is. 

It's fine. You'll see him later tonight anyway.

Looking back to the audience, you finish, "Thanks for having me today. Any questions?"

You wake up. 

[Date: September 16, 2017]  
Does Sans really believe we might be part of someone else's simulation?  
Someone's game? In his universe does he have proof? This Universe would have to be a simulation too; it's the only way we would be able to interact.  
I'm almost sure of it now, I NEED the research. There's something off--something wrong. And I need the research for to solve.  
Sans, I hope you let me know what that is.  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

"I have a research partner back home too," Sans says casually, as if he shares information like this often. "She's a little like you; glasses, indecipherable handwriting, awkward combo of self-deprecation and confidence. I think you'd get along."

"Well, she sounds awesome." You have to clench your teeth against the impulse to ask when you'll get to meet her. You've tried something like that before... It didn't go well. 

And then Sans stopped talking about his brother for a whole week. It's just isn't worth it. Papyrus stories are amazing. It was a tragic loss.

"She asks about you," Sans adds, like he's thanking you for not asking to meet her.

"Oh, so you _do_ tell your other friends about me?"

"Just Alphys."

You wake up.

[Date: September 18, 2017]  
Sans, were you keeping stuff from everyone? Did you have anyone to talk to?  
Communication is so important; not just for your own health and well-being, but for the work we were doing together too.  
You must have had reasons behind the secrecy: why did you do it?  
I wish I understood what you were going through. You really needed someone like that, someone who understands. Someone with [compassion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062303/chapters/29879193#pagetop).  
I hope I was that person for you.  
  
  
---


	12. Know

. . .

You're working side by side on the coding for the Detector, but there's a particular topic itching at the back of your mind. You're not going to let yourself chicken out this time. Turning towards your research partner, you dive in, "Uh, Sans, this is an awkward question but..." you swallow, "do you… like me?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, "I like you."

"Alright," of course he would take that unclear question incorrectly, "let me try again; do you like me romantically and or sexually." He pauses his typing but still doesn't turn to you. "There is no wrong answer here, Dude," you add.

After a beat he says, "Yes." His voice is intentionally like 'sure, Dude'. It almost sounds like he's saying 'duh'.

Unfortunately that's still not clear enough. "Yes to…?" you press.

"Yes to both."

_Finally._ And that's what you thought but you'd rather talk about it openly than dance around it.

"Alright. Thank you," you smile at him. "Now, was that so hard?"

"Uh, _yeah._ It kinda was, Slugger," he meets your eyes finally. He doesn't look bothered though. He looks like he's just being sassy.

You hold back your chuckle just in case you're wrong about that. "It doesn't bother me," you say calmly, "that you like me," you hope he finds that a little reassuring because this next part probably isn't. "But, you know I don't like you the same way, right?"

"I suspected," he says, still sounding very unconcerned.

"Is that weird for you?"

"Nope."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Not weird at all?"

_"Kid._ I just like people sometimes. Only ever after I get to know them. But it's always a chill thing. Like, 'whatever'," he shrugs, "or 'that's an interesting feeling.' I don't need my feelings reciprocated. I mean hopefully somebody will someday. Maybe. But if it never happens, that's fine too. Friendship is what's really important to me. So, if you're cool being my friend then we're on the same page."

"Yeah, I'm really cool with being your friend."

"Then we're good." After a couple minutes more of coding he speaks up. "Was I doing something obvious? Or making you feel uncomfortable?"

"No. Not even a little bit. I was just getting some vibes. Figured we should air it out, you know?"

"Yeah," he says. You can tell he's got more and you wait for it. "Uh, thanks," he adds, "For making us talk about it."

You do chuckle a little this time. "Heh, yeah Dude. If I was waiting for you to bring it up, we'd never talk about it," you tease him.

"You're not wrong."

After a second you ask, "So. Are you demisexual?"

"Uh... yeah, I have no idea what that means, Kid."

"It means you don't find someone sexually attractive till after you have an emotional connection to them."

"Does that include being able to like someone of any gender?"

"Not necessarily, but it can. That's you?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Then maybe you're demisexual panromantic. But I'm just guessing, if you wanted to find labels you could always look it up."

He shrugs again, "Never really mattered. But... it's nice to know there are apparently enough people like that to warrent a label. I always just thought I was the only one."

"You're definitely not," you say confidently.

"Cool," he says. You both get back to work.

You wake up.

. . .

Research With Sans

To: Kate

Date: September 24, 2017

From: Me

I've started piecing together what we did for our research. I still don't know exactly _why_ we did it; this is so different from what I planned to do for my thesis.

Anyway, we started off analyzing my cosmic ray data and from there built a theory of tempo-spacial structure. Then we decided to focus on tempo-spacial disturbances, like portals between universes. We theorized we could create a device that would detect and map these disturbances by detecting small gravitational anomalies.

Then we made the device.

And that part is fucking crazy. How the hell did we do that? Sans must have brought a lot of knowledge to the table to make that one work. Hopefully I will dream about us building it or talking about it so I can actually replicate what we did. I need Sans' help to do this.

. . .

You'd been trying to brainstorm a prank to get Sans back for last week's trifecta. He prank called you about your refrigerator running at three in the morning (though you did laugh when you finally found your running shoes in the crisper drawer the next day); he stacked your toilet paper up like Jenga; and had a rubber band butterfly pop out of your notebook at you.

Actually the butterflies are a thing now, both you and Sans have hidden tons of them. So many damn butterflies. You're even starting to trip up your own land mines. It's honestly totally worth it though, when Sans jumps because a butterfly jumped out of the textbook he just opened and you realize you weren't the one to put it there. You got a long laugh out of that.

"Kid, where did you put my laptop?" Sans asks.

Your response to that question isn't a smirk though; this is less a prank and more _making-a-point._ "That's a good question Sans," you say.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" he sounds annoyed.

"You set the precedent Dude," you match his tone, "questions don't _have_ to be answered." You're being a bit of an asshat but dammit, Sans really needs to start _telling you things._

"We talked about this. It's for your own safety." His voice sounds tired. "And taking my laptop just hinders our progress."

"That's a load of bullshit and you know it," you say getting frustrated. "Science requires information and more information is _always_ better. _Not_ talking to me hinders our progress."

"I want you to drop this," he says stonily.

"And I want you to _trust me,"_ you shoot back. "We don't always get what we want Butterfly."

You glare at each other for a moment but neither of you give in. "It's in the fridge, isn't it?" he says, figuring out your not particularly clever hiding spot.

You groan. "Yeah, it's in the fucking fridge."

You watch him as he fetches the laptop and gets back to work. He doesn't look at you once. Maybe that's a good thing, you're pretty sure the expression on your face is pitiful; something like a kicked puppy. But it isn't just frustrating that he won't tell you--and potentially dangerous--it fuckin _hurts._ The lack of trust in you, the implication that you need to be protected from information because of what you might do with that information. It's just--it's just _fucking bullshit._

But none of that emotional noise helps you answer the damn question--What do you need to do to get Sans to start talking to you?

You wake up.

. . .

You pick up your phone and hit your messenger app.

You click on "sans" and scroll all the way to the top.

sans  
  
**8/5/17** 5:35 AM  
Me: Here's my number.  
  
**8/7/17** 10:03 PM  
Me: My office mate left for the night so drop by whenever you're free.  
  
**8/11/17** 9:30 PM  
Me: Office is empty. Want to continue that debate we were having on tempo-spacial structure theories?  
sans: sure  
  
Me: Did you get a chance to read those papers?  
  
sans: yep  
  
**8/14/17** 9:50 PM  
Me: Finished compiling the data set. Wanna come do graphical analysis and analyze the graphs?  
  
sans: sounds fun  
  
sans: be there in 30  
  
**8/16/17** 9:45 PM  
Me: Jim just left.  
  
**8/18/17** 9:30 PM  
Me: Coast clear.  
  
**8/20/17** 9:55 AM  
Me: Thanks for joining me for the eclipse. I had a lot of fun with you.  
  
sans: me too kid  
  
**8/23/17** 10:05 PM  
Me: Got a new data set today, bring your laptop so we can compile twice as fast.  
  
sans: see you in 10  
  
**8/25/17** 10:15 PM  
sans: coast clear yet?  
  
Me: My office mate isn't leaving .  
  
  
  
**8/25/17** 11:05 PM  
Me: I just realized something. We could totally do this research at my apartment. I live alone and we both have laptops.  
  
Me: I feel like an idiot right now.  
  
Me: How does your teleportation work? Can I just give you the coordinates?  
  
sans: can't teleport into a house I've never been in  
  
sans: but I can teleport onto the roof of the physics building  
  
sans: think we can get to your place without being seen?  
  
Me: Yeah! There's a path through the woods. No one will be on it this late.  
  
sans: let's do it  
  
Me: I'll meet you on the roof.  
  
Me: Just need to pack up.  
  
sans: cool  
  
Me: OMG just realized if you can teleport into my apartment after you see it we can totally work during the day.  
  
Me: Mind blown right now dude.  
  
**8/31/17** 2:43 PM  
sans: got another one for you  
  
sans: what do you call a skeleton who stays out in the snow too long?  
  
Me: I don't know, what?  
  
sans: a numbskull  
  
Me: Okay, I actually like that one.  
  
**9/2/17** 11:48 AM  
Me: I'm at the grocery store right now picking up some beverages to have at my place for when you come over. What do you like?  
sans: chocolate milk  
sans: tea  
sans: black or chai  
sans: ketchup  
Me: To drink?  
sans: yep  
Me: Alright. Six-pack of ketchup and chocolate milk it is.  
**9/3/17** 4:55 PM  
Me: Hey, running late, you can get started without me.  
Me: This homework problem is being a bitch and Kate and I don't want to quit until we take it out.  
sans: already here and working kid  
**9/5/17** 6:17 PM  
sans: what's a skeleton's favorite instrument?  
Me: His "bone"?  
sans: heh. close kid  
sans: the trom-bone  
Me: Nice.  
**9/6/17** 4:24 PM  
sans: when are you out of class?  
Me: 15 minutes and not soon enough.  
sans: why, what's happenin' kid?  
Me: This guy next to me is really annoying.  
Me: He keeps coming in my face.  
sans: i can see how that would be annoying  
Me: OMG no! *coughing. This stupid phone hates me sometimes.  
sans: i'll be at your place in 30  
sans: that'll give you enough time to wash your face   
  
  
**9/8/17** 3:49 PM  
Me: Just made up a joke, want to hear it?  
sans: definitely  
Me: How did the psychologist help the skeleton?  
sans: i don't know, how?  
Me: In-cranium-mentally.  
sans: lol, nice  
Me: Nah, it kinda sucks but I'm proud of myself anyway.  
sans: so… you've been thinking about skeleton jokes  
Me: Dude, you started this.  
Me: You'd better be ready to take as much as you dish out.  
sans: count on it  
**9/12/17** 12:22 PM  
sans: how does the skeleton order his iced coffee?  
Me: I don't know, how?  
sans: chilled to the bone  
Me: Damn that sounds good right now, stop tempting me.  
sans: what else do skeletons like to drink?  
Me: No idea, what?  
sans: car-bone-ated beverages  
Me: Nice.  
**9/12/17** 3:43 PM  
Me: How do skeletons call their friends?  
sans: i don't know, how?  
Me: They use the tele-bone!  
sans: heh  
**9/12/17** 5:50 PM  
sans: why do skeletons like easy homework questions?  
Me: Dunno, tell me.  
sans: because they're no brainers.  
Me: Wow, that's awful.  
Me: And patently not true.  
Me: You're one of the brainiest people I know.  
sans: why are skeletons so happy?  
Me: Dunno, why?  
sans: because nothing gets under their skin  
Me: Alright, that one is true.  
**9/16/17** 6:05 PM  
Me: Hey, what's going on? Thought you'd be here by now. I'm about to start the stimulation without you.  
sans: well, wouldn't wanna miss that  
Me: *simulation. Duck this phone.  
Me: *fuck tits phone.  
Me: OH MY GOD *THIS BONER.  
Me:   
  
Me: JUST WHERE ARE YOU?!!  
  
Me: Come save me from myself!  
  
sans: working on it  
sans: Papyrus is just lecturing me about how my "sock fetish" is unhealthy  
Me: You have a sock fetish?  
Me: That can't be normal.  
Me: Sorry.  
Me: That was meant to be teasing but it came out really kink shaming.  
sans: i'm not sure he really knows the meaning of the word fetish  
Me: Hey, no judgment here.  
Me: Fetish all the socks, dude. It's cool.  
**9/17/17** 11:45 PM  
sans: why did the skeleton put a fence around the cemetery?  
Me: Dunno, why?  
sans: because people we're dying to get in  
Me: Lol. Yep.  
Me: I saw an add for a burial plot the other day.  
Me: I thought to myself, this is the last thing I need.  
sans: nice  
**9/18/17** 7:22 PM  
Me: I reserved the workshop for us all night. Make sure to pack your snark.  
sans: snark all packed up  
Me: Oh god no. I don't need you to bring more of that than normal. Pack your *snack though.  
Me: And your lap dog.  
Me: *laptop  
sans: lap dog, check  
Me: Shot myself in the foot with this one, didn't I?  
sans: yep  
**9/19/17** 12:12 PM  
sans: what do they say at the end of a skeleton rock and roll concert?  
Me: Tell me, I'm dying to know.  
sans: Pelvis has left the building  
Me: Ha, lol.  
sans: what kind of artist was the skeleton?  
Me: Dunno, what kind?  
sans: a skull-pter  
Me: Heh, yep.  
**9/21/17** 5:16 PM  
Me: What do skeletons call sign language?  
sans: dunno, what?  
Me: Phalanguage.  
sans: smooth  
Me: I'm pretty proud of myself.  
**9/27/17** 4:47 PM  
sans: why didn't the skeleton bring his boyfriend home for the holidays?  
Me: I don't know, why?  
sans: because he was a skeleton in the closet  
Me: Lol, just literally chuckled outloud.  
Me: You wrote that one yourself, didn't you?  
sans: yep  
Me: Clever.  
**9/29/17** 9:27 AM  
Me: Made another skeleton joke.  
sans: shoot  
Me: What did the child skeleton get in trouble for?  
sans: i don't know, what?  
Me: He told a fibia.  
sans: heh, awesome  
Me: What did the child skeleton do after getting in trouble?  
sans: dunno, what?  
Me: He skull-ked.  
sans: not bad kid, not bad  
sans: wait, aren't you in class right now?  
Me: Texting under the desk. Don't judge me.  
**10/1/17** 10:02 AM  
Me: Busy?  
sans: nope  
Me: Come over early and watch Avatar with me?  
sans: okay  
**Monday** 3:32 PM  
sans: can I borrow the device to test it  
Me: Totally!  
Me: You have a place you think might have some tempo-spacial disturbances?  
sans: maybe  
Me: Sweet, can't wait to see it.  
sans: …wasn't planning on bringing you kid  
Me: Oh.  
Me: That sucks.  
Me: I assume I don't get to know where you're going either?  
sans: you'd be correct  
Me: Alright. You'd better take some damn good notes.  
sans: can do, kid  
**Wednesday** 7:50 PM  
Me: You coming to research tonight?  
**Friday** 5:45 PM  
Me: I know you're pissed, I get it. But we still have work to do.  
Me: Dude, just text me when you're free, okay?  
**Today** 11:40 AM  
Me: Sans, I'm sorry. I'm not going to explain again or lie and say I regret I did it. I do want to say I think you totally have a right to be pissed off. What I did was shitty.  
Me: But please come back.  
Me: This project is something we've been doing together the whole way, I don't want to do it without you.  


When you finish re-reading you sigh. It's your fault, but it still fucking hurts. You send him one more message.

sans  
  
**Today** 1:45 PM  
Me: I miss you, Dude.  
  


You should stop staring at your phone waiting for a response.

You should get back to work.

You keep staring at your phone

You keep waiting for a response.

"Dammit," you groan and put your phone face down on the table. You squeeze your eyes shut and rub your hands over your face.

This sucks.

Then you hear your phone buzz. You pick it up so fast you fumble it to the floor. You succeed the second time and look at your message.

sans  
  
**Today** 1:45 PM  
Me: I miss you, Dude.  
  
sans: be there in 10  
  


When he gets there he looks terrible. You're such an asshole for hurting him.

You mean to say _sorry_ ; what you say instead is, "Hi."

He gives you a serious look but after a beat he says, "Hi yourself."

It's a call back to the day of the solar eclipse. It gives you a little hope. But then neither of you moves or says anything else and it starts to feel a bit tense.

You jump in, "Sans, I'm sor--"

"-- _Don't_ Kid," Sans interrupts. "It doesn't fucking matter now." He pretty effectively conveys with his eyes how he feels about that fact. His body language reads defensive, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He doesn't look away though. And neither do you.

"I'm not going anywhere Dude," you say, "I'm not the kind of person who gives up. We're in this together." You not sure what you're even really saying; you don't know what _any_ of this is about. But you _do_ know you just proved yourself. Proved that you can be an asshole, yeah, but that you're a stubborn asshole who thinks outside the box and wants to be on his side.

Proved that you're a fucking formidable partner to have in solving problems.

He nods like you said the right thing. "I know," he says. He takes a deep breath, "...And I'm ready to talk."

You wake up.

[Date: October 1, 2017 7am]  
I just dreamt I re-read our text messages. First off, how weird is that?  
But, more importantly, what did I do to upset Sans? My guess? I traced the device. I am dying to know where he went and Sans would never willingly share that info. I probably stole that knowledge and then told him I did it right after.  
He would understandably be pissed about that.  
I'm sorry I'm a dick Sans.  
But if I learned how to find him, wasn't it worth it?  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

Two weeks ago you betrayed him.

Last week you made up and he finally started talking to you about shit.

Today you're treking through the wilderness.

You were hoping it would feel a little more healing. A little more quality-bonding-time-between-bros.

Mostly it's just highlighting the strain that's still between you. Yeah, he's working with you now, but you, sure-as-fuck, haven't been forgiven.

You feel like an asshole. But you don't regret it. Which makes you feel even more like an asshole. Fuck.

You'd like to say the hardest part is over; but it isn't. Super obvious when you keep stumbling into more pockets of hidden information. Everything's apparently compartmentalized. Sans gives you access to one pocket of knowledge but that doesn't mean you get access to others. And he fights you each time you discover a new one.

You'd said, "Stop putting yourself between me and the information, Sans. I'm on your side here."

He'd responded, "You weren't wrong when you said you can be an _asshole."_

Ouch. "I'm just trying to _help_ you."

"And I wanted to protect you. We don't always get what we want, Asshole."

When he'd finally agreed to bring you with him, to see the portals and do more extensive tests, you asked if you could just stay at his place. You knew it was nearby and the trip would take a couple days.

"No," he'd said, sharply.

"Why?" you pushed.

"It's a hard no. _Don't push it."_

You let him shut you down, this time; choose your battles and all. Then you suggested camping.

And so here you are.

It's actually great weather for this. The air is a crisp cool 50-something and the air smells like recently tree-cycled oxygen and pine. There's quite a bit of elevation and your legs are burning pleasantly. Sans teleported you here; a mountain next to a tiny town in Washington state.

Wait, this is on the complete opposite side of the country; how had Sans gotten to your school in the first place? "You said you can't teleport somewhere you've never been," you start.

"Yeah," Sans says, tone still grouchy, "what's your point?"

"Um. So, uh--how did you get to the other side of the US?"

"Slowly," he answers, still not glancing back toward you, "Over the course of a month and a half," he adds. "I teleported line-of-sight hundreds of times."

_"Wow."_ That's fucking _impressive._

"Yeah. I visited a lot of campuses actually. Found your research to be the most relevant. And then, you know, ran into you..."

He says it like he might regret that synchronicity. Your shoulders slump a little.

"Hey Sans," you say, making your tone light, "I backpacked across country once."

"Did ya?" his tone gets softer to match yours.

"Yeah, it was in-tents."

Sans snorts in surprise and you feel a lot better. You actually share a smile together when he looks back at you.

The moment is immediately killed though. Sans' foot slips off the edge of a rock and he slides down the rocky incline a couple feet. You grab his hand and help him back up but there's a scrape on his calf seeping blood.

"Fuck Dude, are you okay?"

"I'm fine Kid. Let's just keep going."

"Sans, Man, I have a whole first aid kit in my bag, let's just patch you up."

"Fine. Whatever."

You gesture toward a downed tree and Sans sits down. You shrug off your pack and pull out your kit. Then it hits you, "Wait, why do you bleed?"

"I have blood," he answers helpfully.

"No shit," you snark. You kneel down and start cleaning him up. You frown and bite your lip. Fuck it, he's really not going to tell you shit unless you push for more. You wish he would stop forcing you to make this shitty choice. You breathe deep. "Do you know of any other monsters who bleed?" you ask.

He huffs and looks away. "No," he says reluctantly.

"Their bodies are made of magic, right? We talked about it before. When they get hurt--well, can they get hurt?"

"Of course they can get hurt."

"When they get hurt, what happens?"

"They just get weaker, less able to fight."

Fight? That's a thing that happens often? "Alright," you say instead, "Uh, how do they heal?"

"Healing magic," Sans answers. "Mostly though they just eat some magic food."

"Wow, really?! They can just eat some food and get better?

"Would work on you too, Champ."

"What, seriously? That's fuckin awesome!" Alright, nope, dammit, off topic. "So, uh, does it work for you?"

His eyebrows frown at you. "Yeah, I'm a monster, aren't I?"

_"Yeah,_ but why are you different from _other_ monsters?"

"Because I'm not afraid to be weird," he says not answering the real question.

You take another deep breath and hold his eyes while you make this next claim. "You used to be human," you state, pretty sure you're right. "I think you're still part human."

He tenses up. "I don't know where you got that idea."

You sigh. Why does _everything_ have to be a fight? "I _listen_ Sans. You have a habit of saying things and expecting I won't see what you're _not saying._ It doesn't fucking work on me. _I see you._ You breathe, you bleed. Your body isn't just magic, it's at least part physical like a human's."

"These leaps in logic are straight up bad science, Kid."

He's not really wrong about that, but, "Want to try to tell me I'm wrong?"

He doesn't confirm or deny. He doesn't say anything at all.

"You can't do it, can you?" You smirk but it slides off your face. "Sans, why keep it a secret. It doesn't fucking matter to me. Unless..." Sans meets your eyes and he's starting to look worried. "It's not about me," you say as you realize it. "It's a secret you keep from everyone. Like a habit." You frown, "Why don't you want monsters to know you used to be human?"

"Kid, just let it go."

"Souls," you say, of course "It's about souls..." you look at him sharply, "You have a human soul?"

And now Sans just looks pissed. "You need to stop being so fucking clever, Sherlock. It's not cute."

Ugh, why does he have to make this so _hard._ "Sans, will you please just tell me? What does telling me cost you? Just... please." And, dammit, now you're actually begging. "Tell me why you don't want monsters to know you have a human soul."

He huffs a breath and looks to the side. But he actually answers, "They killed humans for their souls. The entire Underground was trapped behind a tempo-spacial barrier for hundreds of years. It would take seven human souls to break the barrier. When I got there they had six. I wasn't telling anybody I had what they needed to be free, that my soul could fucking save them all. Maybe it's selfish, but I didn't want to be a fucking martyr."

"...damn," you breathe.

Sans looks at you, "I don't want you thinking they're bad people. They aren't."

"No. No, I get it, good people in bad situations do bad things sometimes." And you feel this other thing should be voiced too. "Sans, you didn't owe them your soul. It wasn't a selfish choice."

His expression softens for the first time in weeks. All he says though is, "If you say so."

"Well, you're all patched up," you tell him softly, "but I guess you could have just eaten something."

"I didn't actually bring much to eat. Was planning on heading back to Papyrus for a bit around dinner."

"That sounds... nice," you say and note that, yep, that's apparently a twinge of jealousy. Sans wasn't planning on food-ing with you later. Fuckin-- _so what?_ Why do you care so much?

"Yeah," Sans says giving you a look, "Let's get moving."

"Sounds good Dude," you say, rolling your eyes at yourself.

You reach the first portal, it's just a large hole in the ground surrounded by scraggly roots. "That looks fucking hazardous," you comment.

"You're not wrong." He turns the Detector on and you walk a safe distance around the perimeter while it boots up and scans. When you don't find anything of note you walk back to Sans.

Sans eyebrows come together. "Something is weird," he says after double checking the readings. "It was showing varying temporal displacement but it just locked into a specific time."

"That's weird. What time?"

"About 50 years ago."

"But a second ago it was varying? Why would it change?"

He looks to the side thinking, "the only thing that changed was you," he meets your eyes, "You moved closer."

"Me? What? You think the portal changed because I got close to it?"

"Maybe," he says. "Test it."

"Yeah, alright," you walk away, counting your steps. After ten, Sans stops you.

"It's back to varying temporal displacement."

"Okay, what the fuck. Sans, why does this portal know me? I've never been here before."

At least Sans seems bothered by this as much as you are. Actually, that's not reassuring, that makes it freakier.

You're staring right at him so you see the realization cross his face just before he stifles it.

"What is it, Sans?"

He actually answers. "You haven't been here before," he says, "You _will_ be."

"What?! You can see the future now?"

"No. My past, your future. Time between the surface and the Underground isn't linear."

"Not making sense yet Dude," you roll your hand in a _keep going_ motion.

Sans continues, "You've always felt familiar to me. I just figured it was because we had a lot in common. But that's not it, it's because I've met you before."

"You met a future me?"

"I met your _soul._ You were meant to fall down sometime in the future and die down there 50 years in the past. The portal was coded for you."

"Like... fate?"

Sans nods.

"My fate is to fucking _die_ down there?" You look at the portal and it starts looking more like a giant gaping mouth that wants to devour you. "That's some _creepy_ shit. You really believe that?"

He holds your eyes and it's enough of an answer. You remember what he was saying about monsters collecting human souls. About everyone being traped for centuries. Your skin starts to crawl.

"Let's leave," Sans says.

"Yeah, okay," you say, not needing to be convinced.

You pack up and get the fuck out of there.

You wake up.

. . .

You're sitting on a log, disinterested gaze alternating between the fire you made and the clear night sky. Too bad there's no one here to comment on your kick ass fire building skills or how awesome the stars are right now. It would make this substantially more fun.

You hear a <<crack>> of a breaking branch and look up.

It's Sans.

"You came back," you say, surprised but quiet.

"Yeah," he says, sounding annoyed at himself, "Apparently I couldn't stop worrying about you."

Your smirk is a little too smiley to actually qualify as a smirk. "Goob, I don't need to be protected. But... uh... I'm really glad you're back. I was definitely getting lonely."

"Well, we can't have that," he sighs. There is a strong tone of fondness though.

You motion to the other half of the log you're sitting on. "Dude, join me. And check out this sky!"

He sits next to you and looks up. "Wow." His voice is a bit reverent.

"I know, right?"

You stare up, looking at the stars. It's weird how that works but they actually look more beautiful now that he's here to look at them too.

You glance back at Sans and notice his eyes are less happy than they were a moment ago. "Why does it make you sad, Sans?"

"Just thinking about how much I'll miss looking at the stars. ...And about how much I'm gunna miss you."

What would take away the fucking stars? You swallow and try not to freak out. "Why are you so sure me and _the stars_ are going to go away?" 

"Another time, alright?" he says, "I'll talk to you about it. Just... right now I want to enjoy the stars with you. Okay?"

You take a deep breath. You wait for the impulse to push for more--the tightness in your gut--the urgent desperate lost and confused feeling--to start to fade to something manageable.

He said he would tell you. You can wait for that.

"Okay," you say through a still tight throat.

The relief on his face makes it totally worth it and you feel your stomach finally start to relax.

You wake up.

. . .

It takes a moment for you to figure out where you are--tent--and there's someone beside you--Sans. Why?-- _Right_ \--investigating the portals.

Alright, but what woke you up?

You hear a sound of pain from Sans and finish putting the pieces together. Sans is just having a nightmare or something. False alarm.

"No!" Sans almost yells and sits up fast. You watch him go through a similar process of figuring out where the fuck you are.

When he sees you're awake, you sit up too. "You alright Dude? Sounded like a pretty rough nightmare."

"Memory."

"What?"

"Not a nightmare. I get to relive memories of losing Papyrus almost every night," he rubs a hand over his eyes, "It's torture."

"What do you mean, _lose Papyrus?"_

"I see him get murdered."

"...But Papyrus is _alive._ You left to read him a bedtime story _last night."_

"I see him die in different timelines."

Okay, this shit is just getting weird. "Timelines? There are multiple timelines now? And why are you getting memories from other timelines?"

"Because those timelines collapsed."

You piece things together, "Fuck, _that's why..."_ you say.

"Why what?"

"Why you keep talking about losing me. Why you're so pissy all the time. You think this timeline will end too. You're just waiting for it to end."

"I don't _think_ that it will end, Asshole. I _know_ it will."

Today has been a day for fucking terrifying news. You knew the big secret had to be something awful, just the way he was always fighting you about it. You just never would have guessed this.

You swallow. But you're not going to let this fuck you up. "So," you say, forcing your voice as casual as it will go, "what? Is Asshole an endearment now?"

Sans snorts in surprise. After a long moment he plays along, "Yeah. You gunna do somethin about it?"

"Fuck no, Dude. Seems fair."

Sans actually chuckles. You smile at him.

"You aren't fighting me anymore," you say. "Not that I'm complaining, but why?"

"Kiddo, found out today that never meeting you at all would have you dead in the Underground. Telling you this stuff doesn't put you in danger. It can only help you."

"Heh, yeah. Thanks," you say. "Guess, uh, we're really in this together now, aren't we?"

"Guess we are," he says softly.

You wake up.

. . .

You decide it's time to be crazy. "Hey, Sans," you reach over, place your hand on top of his for a moment, like you're asking for all his attention, "I was thinking about the Distrupter today-- _and I've got an idea."_

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So, you know how my headphones were tragically stolen last week? I was having a little trouble dealing and decided to try to get something out of the situation, learn a lesson or whatever. Then it hit me--a solution to our Distrupter problem."

"Not following yet, Kid. Explain."

"Right. So, you know how noise-canceling headphones cancel sound by creating a interfering wave? Exact same amplitude but opposite phase as the background noise? So, what if we added a second gravity crystal and made a second wave, a cancellation wave for the Distrupter wave? I think we could give it a boundary. I think we could stabilize it." You pause, because this is the coolest part, "Sans, I think we could make a _portal._ "

"Shit Einstein," Sans eyes go wide, "that might work."

"So, do you think you can get another gravity crystal?"

"I don't know," he looks to the side and thinks about it then adds, "But I have a backup idea if we can't."

"What's your backup?"

"We could split the crystal in half. I think there is enough to make both the stabalizing wave and the destabalizing wave."

"Yeah, I didn't even _think of that."_

This is why the two of you make such a great team. You really challenge each other, to think in new and different ways.

You bite your lip, a little over exited for this next part. You blurt, "So--I had another idea too."

His eyes reflect your enthusiasm back, "Yeah, Gizmo? What's your idea?"

"We should call it the Skeleton Key."

"Heh. That's _perfect."_

"It's fucking awesome, right?" You're feeling so proud of yourself you almost miss the coy tone Sans uses next.

"So, you still haven't found your headphones, huh?"

Your eyes go wide.

"Oh my god Sans, did you do something? You did something, didn't you?!"

"Asshole," he chastises, "I don't know where every tempo-spacially displaced object goes." His tone says _you're_ being ridiculous and his smile is the same as always but you swear little bastard looks _smug._

"Sans! I've been traumatized all week! Where are they?" But, as soon as you ask, you realize you know the answer, they're in the fucking fridge. "Alright, I'll admit I deserve that. But this better set us fucking even or we're gunna have a problem. This was overstepping a line."

"Alright Kid," he says, matching your serious tone. "We're even. And... I'm sorry."

You wake up.

. . .

Good News and Bad News

To: Kate

Date: October 11, 2017

From: Me

The good news is I remembered the blueprints for the Detector. I also remembered the blueprints for the second device we were working on, a portal device we called the Skeleton Key.

The bad news is they both require a component that doesn't exist in our world.

I need something called a gravity crystal to make the devices work.

Fuck.

I don't know what to do. I'm going to keep doing the research, as much as I can anyway. But I think you are our best hope now Kate.

. . .

"I don't want to do this."

"I know," you don't really either, but there aren't any other options. Sans looked for another crystal, everywhere. Then he looked again when you discovered the crystal you have is cracked and will not likely handle being split. But, this one you have came from somewhere Sans can't return to and there are none on Earth or the Underground. Your options are wait for time to reset, or try to split the crystal and hope it survives.

"If this doesn't work... I really don't want you coming after me."

"We don't get all the things we want, Butterfly."

"You're such an asshole...Asshole."

"You love me anyway." You smile when he doesn't try to dispute that. Then you sigh, "This is what we have to do though Sans. We can't stop the Anomaly from destroying timelines without it, we can make a door in the barrier without it. This is how we save your world."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," he says.

You hold his look. "That's fair," you admit. "Alright, moment of truth." You flip the switch and watch the laser start to cut the crystal.

It doesn't take long to go horribly wrong.

You flip the switch back off and stare at the pile of shards together in agonizing silence.

After five minutes you just start cleaning shit up. You sweep the shards into a box, put all the machinery away. Sans walks over to the wall and just slumps against it while you work. When you finish he walks over, puts his hand on your upper arm and you, Sans, and your box of broken dreams are suddenly back at your apartment.

You set the remains of the gravity crystal on the counter and try to get your brain problem-solving again. It's not working.

"Hey, let's just get outta here for a bit," you say. "I actually have a shitty jeep that I never use. Let's put the top down and drive fast. Feel the wind in our... skulls."

"...Yeah, alright," Sans says without argument.

Getting him busy helping you take the top off your Jeep seems to take his mind off things at least.

Driving fast in your Jeep seems to work even better. It's late with a full Moon above you and the roads mostly to yourselves. You love feeling the wind in your hair and Sans eyes are even starting to smile.

"Hey Kid, check this out," he says, grabing your arm. You glance over, see his eye flash and when you look back at the road you see it looks nothing like it did before.

"Holy shit!" you say, watching the suddenly desert landscape pass by. You feel the cooler dry air rush by you now too. Sans can teleport an entire car?! "Fuck, this is awesome! Where are we?!"

"Arizona."

"Ha!" You vocalize your enthusiasm with a yell into the wind.

"Want me to do it again?" Sans asks.

"Hell yeah!"

He does it again. And again. Cornfields--forest--mountains--badlands--there's always a little offset on the car's position in relation to the lane lines. You have to stay alert and quickly maneuver the car back between the lines. It's fucking fun. When he poofs you to another desert you almost run into a car coming the other way and you decide to pull over and let your heart stop racing.

"That is a crazy powerful ability. And that was a lot of fucking fun!"

"Heh, glad you liked it, Asshole."

His eyes are smiling back at you fully now. You turn the car off and look up. This wilderness Sans took you to is dark and empty. The Moon is bright but the sky is so devoid of light pollution that you can actually see the Milky Way.

It's calming. Unfortunately that means your minds wanders back to the problem. You're not the only one.

"Thanks for this Kid," Sans tells you, tone already sadder.

"Feeling any better?" you ask him.

"Maybe a little." Which you know actually means, _not really._ After a moment he cryptically says, "Three days."

"Three days, what?"

"That's how long we would have to figure out the Skeleton Key--if you try and succeed at making it to the Underground."

"What?! Why only three days?!"

"Because something keeps resetting the timeline. It's the same three horrific days of massacre, over and over. I only start remembering I've seen it all before on the third day."

"Fuck this just keeps getting _worse."_ You rub your hands over your face. "Alright," you turn to Sans, "We can do this," you say with conviction. "You said you have another scientist friend, Alphys, right? You, me and Alphys, we'll figure it out."

"How can you still want to come down? How can you still have _hope?"_

"I'm not the kind of person who stops trying. We're in this together Sans. And hope is _powerful._ You'll see Dude."

Sans doesn't respond. You reach over and grab his shoulder to give seriousness to this next part.

"I'm coming down there for you Sans."

He just turns back to look at the sky like he wants to soak in as much of it as he can. Like soon it will be gone.

You wake up.

. . .

Anything Yet?

To: Kate

Date: October 25, 2017

From: Me

Are you having any luck? I'm really starting to despair... I just want to fucking find him. To know he's okay.

But I have no idea how to do that.

. . .

Your phone rings; it's Sans. That's weird. He almost never calls you. You pick up right away.

"It's happening," Sans says before you can speak. You hear panic in his voice; you know exactly what he's talking about.

"Shit."

"Yeah," Sans says. "This is it, Kid. This is goodbye for good."

What? This shit _still?_

_"Like hell it is,"_ you shoot back fiercely. "I'm coming for you."

"Kid, listen--" Sans starts like he wants to use this as an opportunity to teach you _a thing about realistic expectations._ Fuck. That. Noise.

"--No Sans, _listen to me._ Hope as much as you fucking can, because it helps. It actually fucking helps."

_"Asshole,"_ he shoots back, "You're going to get yourself killed with that _naive optimism."_ You can hear his distaste for it in his tone.

You feel a little chastised. Pissing him off right now is not what you want at all. "Sans," you force your voice to go calmer, "we've planned this out," you remind him, "we've prepared. All we have to do is remember. And you know me, I'm a stubborn mother fucker. This. Will. Work."

"I wish I could believe that. I can't. I don't have hope like you do."

"Hope isn't some mystical voodoo," you tell him, wanting him to understand. Wanting to ease the despair you hear in his voice. "It's not a thing you have or you don't, it's a thing you _do._ Every damn day you try. It's just a habit, Sans. You choose it. So, just fucking choose it. Okay?"

He doesn't say anything and your shoulders slump. You're not getting through to him. You bite your lip.

Why do you care so much about what's he's hoping for anyway? It won't make a difference. The bulk of this is on you till you get down there.

But, honestly, you don't want him disappointed to see you when you get there.

"I mean, you're right," you admit, "hope is dangerous. You've been teaching me that. I _am_ trying to be careful and I know it doesn't do shit without action to back it up. I do listen to what you say... But we gotta learn from each other. Try to listen to me too, okay?"

After a beat he says, "You really believe in this shit don't you?" He lets out a breath that is almost a growl, "Fine. I'll try Kid. I'll try. ...We're in this together," he says for the first time.

You huff in relief, "Thanks." Then you think of something that might be an easier step for him. "You believe in me though, don't you?" you ask him, "At least, that I'm never going to give up. I've _shown_ you that enough times, haven't I?"

There is a long pause, you can hear the seconds--your last seconds--ticking away. Sans finally speaks up, "Yeah, Asshole," a touch of affection softens his tone, "Yeah, I believe in y--"

everything goes black... foggy black emptiness... the emptiness slides away into Nothing... you grasp for it... but everything is fading... you focus all the power you have into--A voice. You hear a voice. Your own voice... wake up--remember him--you have to remember him-- remember sans--you have to remember sans--wake up idiot--wake up-- _wake up_ \----[Wake up.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13098024/chapters/29980161#pagetop)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end.


	13. search

go back and search the darkness for your memories


	14. Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Warnings:** Discussions of depression, past and present. Discussions of past suicidal thoughts.  
>  **Also Included:** Asexual Aromantic Reader. Demi-sexual Sans.

. . .

You really need Sans to open up to you, but you don't want to push him.

It's been... interesting trying to to navigate these competing goals.

You've been doing this thing where you just ask him questions. He answers or he doesn't. If he doesn't you never push it.

 _But,_ sometimes he answers.

"So... souls?" you'd asked.

"Heh, what about 'em, Twenty-Questions?" he'd answered.

"Is the topic open to discussion?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Just depends," he said, not willing to give you more. "Ask a question."

"Alright. _So,_ human souls and monster souls are different. Do you have any idea why--even guesses--are they made of something different or just work differently?"

"Well, I think they are made of something different but it may be that they are in seriously different concentrations. Monsters believe that a human soul is 1000 times more powerful than a monster's. That _power_ that they have is not well defined, but humans are not inherently magical the way monsters are so it can't be magical power."

"Humans aren't _inherently_ magical does that mean humans can use magic?"

"Yeah... that's off the table," he'd said. After a moment he'd continued with, "I think it's more likely that the souls are just different. Weird thing about monsters is when they parent a child they give the child pieces of their soul. As the child grows they get more of the parent's soul and the parent ages as a result."

"That is seriously different than human souls."

"Yep." And that was all you got.

So, yeah, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But, that's all dependent on _you_ knowing the right questions to ask.

You've got a new idea though; what if you tried opening up to him first? In a very low key way. You could write something honest and vulnerable about yourself in the back of your shared notebook. He could ignore it if he wanted, there would be no expectation of reply, but you could lead by example.

You decided to go for it and you wrote this:

I've never known what to do with my life.  
I used to think I knew what I wanted.  
But when I got there I didn't want it at all.  
I realized I barely knew anything about myself.  
Why did I think I wanted that?  
  
I still haven't figured it out either.  
I still don't know what to do with my life.  
I'm only here studying physics because I couldn't think of anything better to do.  
I'm smart enough. Mostly. So why the fuck not?  
  
The real reason I'm here is Kate.  
She's the only part of my life I was sure about.  
I knew I wanted her to be a part of it.  
So I just followed her here.  
  
  
  
---  
  
You didn't actually expect it to work the first time but here in the back of your journal is a heart-wrenching entry from Sans. 

sometimes i wish i didn't want to be a comedian  
but the way it feels, it's almost like an addiction  
i love the attention. i love making people laugh  
i love telling them truths that they don't even catch  
they can't see what's happening even though it's right in front of them  
  
what they're watching is actually brutal  
i tear myself apart. i look at my heart under a microscope  
i find the honesty that's buried deep  
and then i make it funny  
  
sometimes i wonder if i would stop needing this so much if i just started being honest with the people around me  
  
  
  
---  
  
You feel like you should respond to it, in some way, but it isn't asking for a response. And more importantly, that really doesn't promote the chill, only-if-you-feel-like-it aura you want this journaling to give him.

You write a new entry about yourself and when you hand him the book you ask, "Do you want to talk about it?" very non-specifically.

"Nope," he says.

"Okay."

And that's the end of it.

I have moments where I think, 'I'm cool. I'm important. I'm special. I have something of value to give the world.'  
Those moments are immediately followed by thoughts about how conceited I must be to think that.  
  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

Research With Sans

To: Kate

Date: September 24, 2017

From: Me

I've started piecing together what we did for our research. I still don't know exactly _why_ we did it; this is so different from what I planned to do for my thesis.

Anyway, we started off analyzing my cosmic ray data and from there built a theory of tempo-spacial structure. Then we decided to focus on tempo-spacial disturbances, like portals between universes. We theorized we could create a device that would detect and map these disturbances by detecting small gravitational anomalies.

Then we made the device.

And that part is fucking crazy. How the hell did we do that? Sans must have brought a lot of knowledge to the table to make that one work. Hopefully I will dream about us building it or talking about it so I can actually replicate what we did. I need Sans' help to do this.

. . .

You flip to the back of your journal to see if Sans wrote anything more.

He did.

i saved the universe once  
i was fourteen  
  
  
  
---  
  
It takes you several days to add another entry.

. . .

"So, greatest strength and greatest weakness?" you ask randomly. He seems more open to these questions of personality and preferences which don't help you know what's going on but at least they help you know him. And you want that too.

"Heh." He's probably amused by your bluntness. "Alright 20-Q, I'll take the bait," he answers, "Strength--not afraid to be weird. Weakness--I'm a liar."

"Ha," you say surprised, "No you're not."

Sans raises an eyebrow at the flaw in that statement. 

"You aren't a liar," you insist. "You refuse to answer and you say misleading things, but other than the lie about you being a liar, I've never heard you say something that wasn't technically true."

"So sure of yourself, huh? Is that _your_ weakness?"

 _"Confidence_ is a weakness?"

"Over confidence is," Sans responds reasonably. You're still frowning so he continues, "If you get over confident and stop listening to good advice or if you get yourself stuck in a wrong way of viewing things and don't give yourself a way to get out of it, that can be a serious weakness."

"That's fair," you respond. Over confidence is not your weakness though. "So, my turn. Strength, uh, I'm pretty smart and I try really hard to understand people. Weakness? Stubborn, but that could be good in the right context. Um, Kate complains about my shitty self preservation instinct? I'm always pushing myself too hard and being a sacrificial idiot when I care about something. At least that's what Kate says. I just call it believing in something with all my heart."

Sans stares at you looking alarmed. "That sounds dangerous. You should probably get that looked at."

"Is it really that bad? Isn't it a good thing to put others before yourself?"

"Not paying attention to your own limitations can be actually deadly. And not just for yourself, for anyone who is depending on you. Sometimes the best way to take care of someone is to make sure you keeping being there to take care of them." His tone is really serious and you feel a bit chastised.

"Alright. I'll work on that. I'll try to think about my limitations a little more. To not push myself until I crash."

"And take care of yourself, Kid," he pushes.

Your lips tip up, his concern seems almost sweet. "And I'll try to take care of myself," you agree.

He seems to find that acceptable, nods once then says softly, "Apathy. That's my weakness. Sometimes when I need to take action, when I need to care, I just don't. It's gotten people hurt."

You think about that for a second, bite your lip and frown. You don't want him to feel guilty for something he can't help. You can't force yourself to feel things, to care. "I have this friend online who is a self proclaimed sociopath," you tell Sans. "He's a really nice guy, always trying to do the right thing. He just doesn't connect to other people's emotions. A lot of the emotion he does have sounds like muted versions of what I feel. Society tells him he's a freak, that he's something bad. But society is wrong about that. The way he is is just one of the many ways people can be. And none of them are wrong."

Sans nods, "Something that is part of who and what you are can never be wrong. It's just part of you. It just is what it is."

You blink at him surprised, "Yeah, that's what I was trying to say."

"But Kid," Sans continues, "the things you _do can_ be wrong. Apathy's not wrong, but what I did because of it, that was wrong."

"But you said it wasn't something you did, it was something you _didn't_ do."

"I had a responsibility," he says like that's all there is to it. "You don't have to _feel_ like doing the right thing to _do_ the right thing."

This sounds like it is still eating him up a bit. "Will you tell me what happened?" you ask, hoping he'll let you help him process it.

He shakes his head, "Off the table," he says in a quiet voice.

"Okay," you say. You try to keep the sad tone out of your voice. It doesn't work very well.

You wake up.

. . .

>   
>    
>  Hi Tired,  
>  I'm Dad.

. . .

Sans fell asleep on your couch. _Aww._ He's so cute. You just want to put a blanket on him or something.

You don't know why you keep glancing back at him, incredible cuteness probably, but after a bit you notice his grin is shrinking. It's really weird. You kinda thought his mouth was just always the same shape, that it couldn't move, but apparently it can, at least a little. Man, he must be dreaming something _really awful._

He confirms it a moment later when he almost imperceptibly shakes his head, "no. …no, Papyrus..." he says quietly, eyebrows drawn together. You've never seen his face _this_ unhappy. His breath hickups in a quiet sob and you decide you're not going to let this continue.

You go to the couch, drop to your knees, gently shake him awake, "Sans, wake up. It's just a nightmare."

"Wha?" he says, his eyes going wide. He blinks several times, coming back to reality, then his eyes squeeze shut in a pained expression.

"Just a nightmare, Sans," you reassure him.

"Not a nightmare," he corrects automatically, "a memory."

"A memory?! Sans, what... _happened?"_ You're not sure if you should ask that, but how can you _not?_

Sans surprises you by answering. "I watched Papyrus die," he says, "I watched the anomaly kill him." But that answer makes no fucking sense.

"Anomaly? Sans, your brother is fine. You told me Papyrus had you building puzzles with him _today."_

He meets your eyes, "In a different timeline Papyrus is murdered and I see it happen."

"Oh my god."

He moves to sit up and you just stare at him for a moment unable to process that information. Before you can, he continues, "I've been getting memories from different timelines for the past couple months."

"...timelines? Like collapsed timelines? That shit's _real?"_

Sans nods, leans his elbows on his knees and puts his head in his hands.

This is so fucked up. What do you even say to that?

"That is so fucked up," you say. Though, you guess that explains why Sans can be sad sometimes. That would fuck anybody up. "This is what's been bothering you, isn't it?" Wait, no, he told you why he gets down. It's because he worries about losing you like he lost his other friends. You realize in alarm why he would worry about that so much, "No… It's not just that. You think this timeline will collapse too, don't you?"

He looks over to you, so much pain behind his eyes, and admits, "Kid, I _know_ it will."

You wake up.

...

To: Kate

Date: October 17, 2017

From: Me

He did know it was all going to end. He knew the timeline was going to collapse the whole time.

. . .

I write really bad poetry.  
  
  
  
---  
  
i adore butterflies  
  
  
  
---  
  
I believe in aliens.  
  
  
  
---  
  
i used to be human  
  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

>   
>    
>  did you hear the joke about pizza?  
>  nevermind, it's too cheesy

. . .

You sigh and drop your head into your hands. Sans has been getting more anxious which means you've been getting more anxious. You need to find a solution to make the Distrupter work _soon._ There _can't_ be much time left. Sans said you were lucky to have this much.

You flip through your notebook to find the schematics.

A page of purple paper slides out to the floor. You pick it up.

 _Oh,_ you smile. It's the poem you and Sans wrote together. A goofy thing you asked him to do with you almost a month ago.

You re-read it.

So, you were serious about being a poetry phile?  
Do ya wanna try doin' dis loco thing for a while?  
I'll start this loony avoidance of prose  
You add to it & let's see where it goes…  
  
Thursday nights are for alien abduction  
just letting you know, keep your calendar open  
Tuesdays are good for dimensional travel  
cause 2s are the days spacetime starts 2 unravel  
  
You can keep all yer mons cuz mons r no funs  
but save Fridays for me, all except 1  
I need all those fried daze at 4:20 o'clock  
the last goes(unclaimed)in a heart-shaped key'lock  
  
O', but those weed ness daze, are deft 4 sleepin' in  
right to the late hour of six thirty aye yem  
6:30's the best time on the clock, hands down  
but midnight's still good if we turn things around  
  
Then what about songday? well on song-day we sing  
and singing's the thing for all yer'membering  
It's a poor sort of memory that only works back  
so sing to put memories on 4way cross track  
  
And at last for your past steadfast sat-your-days  
and for all those fast forecast sit-your-days  
I think you already know, those should be obvious  
yeah, on those you should deft'nightly dance w/us  


You find yourself chuckling a little outloud and decide to attach it to the fridge with a magnet. It's below the giant googly eyes Sans put on your fridge, surrounded by about 15 post-it notes with dad jokes you and Sans keep finding, and right next to the picture of you, Sans, and Kate. The pic is from the night the three of you baked magical pizza and then you taught Sans Magic: the Gathering.

"Hey, we need to commemorate this with a picture," Kate had insisted, motioning for us to come over by her wheelchair. She held her phone out for the selfie. "Smile dorks!" she said and snapped the picture. "Oh my god, Sans, did you just do a peace sign?"

"He did? Let me see," you said. "Holy crap Sans, that's adorable," you looked over and he was subtly blushing blue. You smiled bigger and shared a glance with Kate. Sans blushed a little more. "Aww," you said, "did we embarrass you Sans?"

"No," he said a little defensively, "And what's so weird about a peace sign?" he asked a little confused.

"It's not weird, we think it's really cool, Dude." You tried to say it earnestly but you were smirking a little too much.

Sans glanced from you to Kate and back. "I hate you guys," he said but his eyes were smirking a little now too.

"Aww, come on Sans, let's do another one," Kate says, "20-Q and I want to be cool like you. Let's all be retro." (Kate seriously loves the nickname Sans gave you.)

Sans didn't come back over right away so you went to grab his arm and try to pull him. He didn't budge at all, which was a little surprising, but then he sighed and gave in. He let you drag him the whole way back to Kate. All three of you hold up proud peace signs this time, just three friends being dorks together.

Kate printed it and put it on your fridge, encircled it with your post-it collection.

It's a really nice picture.

...Fuck. You really don't want this to end.

You need to solve this.

There has to be a way. You just need to find it.

You wake up.

. . .

Anything Yet?

To: Kate

Date: October 28, 2017

From: Me

Are you having any luck? I'm really starting to despair... I just want so badly to find him.

But I'm so lost as to how.

. . .

>   
>  What runs but doesn't get anywere?  
>    
>  A refrigerator!

. . .

You bite your lip debating, then decide, yeah, it's definitely time to be crazy. "Hey, Sans," you reach over, place your hand on top of his for a moment, like you're asking for all his attention, "I was thinking about the Distrupter today-- _and I've got an idea."_

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So, you know how my headphones were tragically stolen last week? I was having a little trouble dealing and decided to try to get something out of the situation, learn something or whatever. Then it hit me--a solution to our Distrupter problem."

"Not following yet, Kid. Explain."

"You know how noise-canceling headphones cancel sound by creating a interfering wave? Exact same amplitude but opposite phase as the background noise? So, what if we added a second gravity crystal and made a second wave, a cancellation wave for the Distrupter wave? I think we could give it a boundary. I think we could stabilize it." You pause, because this is the coolest part, "Sans, I think we could _make a portal._ "

Sans eyes go wide, "Shit Einstein, that might work."

You beam at him. _"So,_ do you think you can get another gravity crystal?"

"I don't know," he looks to the side, thinking, then turns back to you and adds, "But I have a backup idea if we can't."

"What's your backup?"

"We could split the crystal in half. I think there is enough to make both the stabilizing wave and the destabilizing wave."

 _"Yeah,_ I didn't think of that." Sometimes you really just love the way it feels to work with Sans. The way you each think is a great mix of similar and totally different. It makes the two of you a kick ass team.

You bite your lip again, a little over exited for this next part. You blurt, "So--I had another idea too."

His eyes reflect your enthusiasm, "Yeah, Gizmo? What's your idea?"

"We should call it the _Skeleton Key."_

"Heh. That's _perfect."_

"I know, right?!" You're feeling pretty proud of yourself and you almost miss the coy tone Sans uses next.

"So, you still haven't found your headphones, huh?"

Your eyes go wide.

"Oh my god Sans, did you do something? You totally did something, didn't you?!"

"20-Q," he chastises, "I don't know where every tempo-spacially displaced object goes." His tone says _you're_ being ridiculous and his smile is the same as always but you swear the guy looks _smug._

 _"Sans!_ I've been traumatized all week! My _headphones_ Dude! Where did you put them?" But, as soon as you ask, you realize you know the answer, "The fridge, right?" It's been a reoccurring theme in his pranks.

"Well, that seems like a weird place to lose your headphones," he says innocently."

"Sans, just no, Dude. This was too far. I like the teasing-pranking thing we've got going on, but this was actual trauma. Dial it back, alright?"

"Alright Kid," he says, matching your serious tone. After a beat he adds, "I'm sorry I went too far."

You wake up.

Good News and Bad News

To: Kate

Date: October 31, 2017

From: Me

The good news is I remembered the blueprints for the Detector. I also remembered the blueprints for the second device we were working on, a portal device we called the Skeleton Key.

The bad news is they both require a component that doesn't exist in our world.

I need something called a gravity crystal to make the devices work.

Fuck.

I don't know what to do. I'm going to keep doing the research, as much as I can anyway. But I think you are our best hope now Kate.

. . .

Sometimes I worry there is something wrong with me. I just really don't want to date anyone.  
  
Sometimes it feels like you like me.  
For a second I thought maybe I liked you back.  
I really tried to.  
  
But romance and sex just aren't what I want.  
Wanting to want it doesn't make me want it.  
  
I know logically there is nothing wrong with being asexual and aromantic. I've read enough to know that there are lots of other people like me.  
  
But you're told from a young age love is the point.  
Finding a partner and growing old together.  
That sex is a Big Fucking Deal.  
None of that changes what I want.  
It just makes me feel broken.  
  
I'm not broken.  
  
  
  
---  
  
sometimes i feel like i'm the only one like me  
i'm not attracted to anybody  
  
but then i get to know them  
  
if we get along, if we enjoy spending time together, then i start to like them  
i start to find them attractive  
  
it doesn't really matter what they look like  
what their gender is  
if they're old  
or if they're young  
  
i don't know if anyone else is like that  
am i the only one?  
  
but the way the crush works is odd too  
it feels like, 'whatever' and 'that's interesting'  
i never act on it  
i don't need reciprocation  
i don't care if they never like me back  
it's really easy to be not-weird about it  
it's just part of the way i experience living  
  
  
  
---  
  
I want to be a parent.  
I don't think it will ever happen.  
  
  
  
---  
  
i don't mind being single  
but sometimes i really just want touch  
the way culture is, both here and in the monster world, after that first handshake, you just don't  
sometimes i just want to have an arm around my shoulders. or lean up against someone. a hug. a hand hold.  
you do that for me sometimes  
it feels like a drink of water while i'm dying of thirst  
  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

>   
>    
>  the rotation of earth really makes my day

. . .

Sans walks next to you as you hike through the poorly lit trails towards the open field closest to your apartment. The meteor shower peaks tonight and you thought hanging out on some blankets drinking cocoa would help Sans relax.

It's not working yet.

"I can almost hear you worrying," you say.

He glances over and then sighs. "You're not wrong."

"We'll solve this Sans," you try to reassure him. "We're a force to be reckoned with--brains _and_ determination." His eyes don't return the smile you give him.

"How do you stay so hopeful?" Sans asks you.

"I choose to," you answer but realize that isn't going to be enough. You know Sans struggles with hope. He needs something more concrete. "Hope is something you give yourself," you explain. "When things are shitty you say to yourself, 'there is a way to make this better and I'm going to figure it out.' Then you act on that. The trick is, you don't even have to believe it, you just have to use it as your working theory. You just have to believe that _maybe_ there's an answer and to keep looking for it."

"Sounds so simple the way you explain it."

"I'm sure it's not. It's probably easier for me because I have so much practice." You walk beside him a little farther and decide, "Why don't you start practicing now. Just say the words out loud."

"No."

"Heh. Come _on,_ humor me. It's just a few words, is that really so hard?"

He sighs. "What am I supposed to be saying?"

You give him a big smile. "Just say, 'There's a way to do this and we're going to find it."

"There is a way. We're going to find it."

"There. Feel better?"

"No." After a moment he shrugs, "I don't know, maybe a little."

"It'll work. Keep trying, okay?"

"Sure thing, 20-Q," Sans grumbles.

You reach the field and drop your backpack to pull out the first blanket, spread it wide on the ground with quick motion of your wrists. Sans plops down and pulls the magic cocoa out of his bag, then your coffee cups. He pours one for each of you and sets them on the grass in front of the blanket while you pull a second blanket out of your bag and wrap it around your shoulders.

You sit down next to him then adjust the blanket so it covers Sans shoulders too. But you aren't quite close enough, so you shift till your side is leaning against his.

You still haven't talked about the things you write to each other in your shared journal. You keep asking but he says 'nope' every time. Someday you hope that will change, but for now you just reference it tangentially; like how you're giving him some physical contact right now because you know it means a lot to him.

"Thanks," he says quietly and you know he means the contact.

You nudge him a little, "Happy to, Dude."

You look up at the sky. The meteors are pretty frequent right now, all localized around one of your favorite constellations, Orion. The air is cool on your face but it's nice and warm under the blanket sipping cocoa. You take a deep breath. The smell of the chocolate mingles with the smell of fall from the cool field air and the smell of grilled hotdogs from Sans.

"This is really nice," you say.

"Yeah," Sans says, almost sounding surprised, "it is."

You wake up.

. . .

Five years ago I got really depressed.  
It was bad. I had to be hospitalized for a while.  
Kate stuck with me through the whole thing.  
  
That kind of acceptance is life changing.  
  
  
  
---  
  
i deal with depression every day  
some days are worse than others  
but each day i try to tell myself  
i did the best i could with what i had  
  
some days i even believe it  
  
  
  
---  
  
I used to think about killing myself.  
I'm only still alive because back then I kept telling myself, 'Kate will be the one to find you.'  
I didn't want to do that to her.  
  
  
  
---  
  
sometimes i wish suicide was an option for me  
but my self preservation is too strong for me to ever take myself out  
onward is my only choice  
no matter how grim it gets  
  
  
  
---  
  
I wish I could stop freaking out whenever I'm not happy.  
  
  
  
---  
  
i've just accepted that i'm not happy  
it's okay to be not happy  
happiness isn't the only reason to live  
  
  
  
---  
  
Sometimes I'm just numb. I think I've forgotten how to cry.  
  
  
  
---  
  
i'm physically unable to cry  
i wish i could  
  
  
  
---  
  
There are moments though. Moments I try to savor. Proof that I can still feel. I start to forget what it feels like and I need something I can hold onto.  
Like laying out under a starry night sky.  
  
  
  
---  
  
making Papyrus smile  
  
  
  
---  
  
Shooting the shit with Kate.  
  
  
  
---  
  
a good puzzle  
  
  
  
---  
  
Figuring shit out.  
  
  
  
---  
  
nailing a joke  
  
  
  
---  
  
Listening to music.  
  
  
  
---  
  
a good night sleep  
  
  
  
---  
  
Understanding someone.  
  
  
  
---  
  
helping someone feel understood  
  
  
  
---  
  
Being understood.  
  
  
  
---  
  
being the one who understands you  
  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

>   
>  I ate a clock yesterday.  
>    
>  It was very time consuming.

. . .

Your phone rings, it's Sans. He's never called before--you pick up right away.

"--Where are you?" Sans asks before you can speak.

"Just got out of class, why?"

"It's happening." You hear panic in his voice; you know exactly what he's talking about.

"Shit." Your throat starts to feel really tight. "We're not ready."

"Nothing we can do about it now."

That can't be true, there's got to be something you can do. "You remembered the timelines before--maybe you'll remember this one--you can replicate what we did. We're really close Sans--all we needed to do was find a way to successfully cut the crystal."

"Yeah sure 20-Q, that'll probably work," he says. His tone says he doesn't believe it one bit.

"Okay...uh...maybe when I remember I should come find you?--Two minds are better than one. Is there a way to get to the monster world without magic?"

"I don't want you coming down here," he says flat and abrupt.

Down? "Why Sans?"

He lets out a short annoyed breath. "This is why I never told you anything. I _don't want_ you to know how to find me. I _don't want_ you coming to help me. I want you to stay safe, okay?"

"It's really bad, isn't it?" you say as you realize it. "You didn't want me to know how bad it was because you knew that would make me more determined to help you." You swallow, "You know me Sans, I'm going to try."

"I guess I hoped if I asked you not to, you wouldn't," Sans says softly, "So, don't look for me Kid, _please."_

"Sans, I--I can't... I can't promise that. I _won't_ promise that. I'm going to do everything I can to help you. So... will you help me know what I'm walking into?"

There's a long pause and you can almost feel the seconds slipping away from you. Then Sans sighs and answers, "Once you get there, _if you get there,_ every monster will be trying to kill you. They believe they need human souls to bring down the barrier that has kept them trapped for hundreds years. _If_ you make it to me before you get killed we can _hypothetically_ work on the Skeleton Key however, we'll only have three days. The monster world was stuck in a cyclic three day massacre and I expect that to return. Oh, and you won't start remembering the past timelines until it's too late to change anything."

"Fuck." Your chest feels empty. You're having a little trouble breathing so you put your hand over your heart and take some deep breaths. Is it really that bad? Or is Sans just trying to scare you away? No, Sans doesn't lie, it's really that bad. "Sans, you _need_ my help. We can do this if we're together."

"You can't help us Kid."

Sans really believes that, you can hear it in his voice, but that's not all. "You don't think anything can help you," you say when you realize it.

"Nothing _can."_

Now your chest feels empty for a different reason. "Sans, try not to lose hope, okay? It will be so much harder to succeed if you don't actually believe success is possible." Sans doesn't say anything so you just ask for the information you need most. "Where is the entrance?"

"Heh," he snorts humorlessly, "I'm not telling you that. If you find a way to get down there, then it won't be because I helped you."

There's another long silence but it's your fault this time.

"Please, Kid," Sans begs. "Please don't come looking for me."

What do you even say to that? You walk over to the wall, lean back against it, slide down to sit on the floor. Then you take a deep breath, let it out through your mouth. Then you say into the phone, "What do you call a dog that can do magic?"

There are several seconds of silence and then Sans huffs a soft, "Heh," then asks, "I don't know, what?"

"A Labrcadabrador."

He gives you a small laugh.

You continue, "Did you hear about the paddle sale at the boat store? It was quite the oar deal." You smile when you say it, you really love that one, and keep going, "What's the difference between a poorly dressed man on a tricycle and a dapper man on a bicycle?"

"I don't know, what's the difference?" he says, playing along.

"Attire."

You're gifted with a legitimate chuckle. Dad jokes man, Sans weakness. He speaks up with his own, "What do you call a cute silly mountain?"

"I don't know, what?"

"Hill-arious."

"Ha. I gotta remember that one."

You both fall quiet for a second. Maybe Sans feels it too; relief in this moment--a sliver of peace despite everything else.

You think he does.

With affection in his voice, Sans says, "Guess I'll be seein--

everything goes black... foggy black emptiness... the emptiness slides away into Nothing... you grasp for it... but everything is fading... you focus all the power you have into--A voice. You hear a voice. Your own voice... wake up--remember him--you have to remember him-- remember sans--you have to remember sans--wake up idiot--wake up-- _wake up_ \----[Wake up.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13097994/chapters/29980089#pagetop)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end.


	15. search

go back and search the darkness for your memories


	16. Communication

. . .

"I'm just thinking about how much I'm going to miss ya, Stardust."

This isn't the first time he's said something like this. "I'm here now," you say, hopefully reassuring. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Sometimes leaving isn't your choice."

And your response to the cryptic ominous comment is frustration. You're really tired of this shit. You stop walking. He stops and turns to you.

"Are you ever going to tell me what this is about?" You give him a moment to answer and he doesn't. "I'm trying to be patient Sans, but whatever's going on, I think this is shit _I should know."_

"I'm trying to protect you," his tone is stern.

"This doesn't protect me!" you respond. You can't argue specifics without knowing _some fucking details_ but, "more information is _always_ better Sans. We're scientists, _you know this."_

He's smiling like always but his eyebrows are drawn together. He's glaring at you. "Fine. Ask your _questions_ Kiddo."

It's not quite a concession. He could still refuse to answer. He's done that before.

And, dammit, there are so many things you want to know. _What happened to you? What knowledge aren't you sharing about multiple universes? About tempo-spacial disturbances? Where do you go home to every day? Why won't you open up to me?_

_What are you so afraid of?_

_What's supposed to split us apart?_

The moonlight illuminating his face is soft but the expression in his eyes is hard; battle ready and closed off. You know he doesn't want to answer any of those questions.

This time he might actually do it though. This time he might be scared enough. He might think you'd actually stop helping him.

You sigh. That's not what you want. …Maybe you can wait... Just a little longer.

"What does your skin feel like?" you surprise yourself by asking. "Like bone? Can I… touch you?"

His eyes go wide.

Then his cheekbones go blue.

You stare at each other for a long moment.

"Okay," he says, decisive but quiet.

You take the three steps into his personal space, this is the closest you've ever been to each other. Your height difference is very noticeable like this; he can't be much over five feet which means you're more than a little bit taller than him.

You reach out. His eyes hold yours, the emotion behind them complex. _Layered._ Your hand stays suspended in the air, inches from him, as you try and fail to decipher what you're reading in his eyes.

When your hand finally touches his face he closes his eyes.

"Warm," you whisper in the sudden stillness. "I didn't expect that."

His skin is like nothing you've ever touched before. It's not like human skin at all. It's solid, like rock, but the texture is soft, like suede.

"Feels like living stone." You trap your bottom lip with your teeth.

 _Wait,_ are you _actually wondering_ what his skin would feel like against your lips?

\--and what he would _taste like?_

Fuck.

You freeze for a moment, eyes wide, and marvel at how you fucking missed the fact that this was something you wanted.

Sans doesn't see you process that realization though; his eyes are still closed. His face is tipped up toward you, expression open. He looks so vulnerable. It pulls at you, an ache deep in your gut. You have to step back. Everything about Sans pulls at you, frequently in multiple directions. You wish you had any idea what to do about it.

You start walking again and Sans is right there next to you.

"Thank you for letting me touch you," you say softly.

"Yeah," he shrugs. "No problem, Kiddo," he tries to sound unaffected.

It doesn't work.

You wake up.

. . .

Research With Sans

To: Kate

Date: September 24, 2017

From: Me

Starting to really wonder if Sans and I were a thing. I'll tell you about it, my place later, okay?

In other news, I've started piecing together what we did for our research. I still don't know exactly _why_ we did it; this is so different from what I planned to do for my thesis.

Anyway, we started off analyzing my cosmic ray data and from there built a theory of tempo-spacial structure. Then we decided to focus on tempo-spacial disturbances, like portals between universes. We theorized we could create a device that would detect and map these disturbances by detecting small gravitational anomalies.

Then we made the device.

And that part is fucking crazy. How the hell did we do that? Sans must have brought a lot of knowledge to the table to make that one work. Hopefully I will dream about us building it or talking about it so I can actually replicate what we did. I can't do this without his help.

. . .

Sans fell asleep on your couch while you were watching the Matrix together. He must have been really fucking tired. It's not the first time you've seen him asleep, but it is the first time he's fallen asleep on _you_.

When he first conked out his head was on your shoulder but you've both adjusted since then and now his head is actually on your lap.

So, yeah, he's really fucking close and _damn_ is he cute. This is really not helping with your crush which happens to be fucking with your head full time now.

You're debating the pros and cons of waking him when you notice his eyebrows are coming together. You frown, concerned; he must be having a nightmare.

He almost imperceptibly shakes his head like he's saying 'no', then he actually does, "no…Papyrus…don't--" in a quiet voice. You've never seen his face _this_ unhappy.

You should do something? Right?

You see his breath hickup in a quiet sob and you finally break out of your shock. You grab his shoulder and gently shake him awake.

"Sans, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

"Wha?" he says, his eyes going wide. He blinks several times, coming back to reality, then he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Just a nightmare, Sans," you reassure him.

"Not a nightmare," he corrects automatically, "a memory." He sits up, puts a little bit of space between the two of you.

"A memory?!" you ask, alarmed, "Sans, what… _happened?"_

Sans surprises you by actually answering. "I watched Papyrus die," he says, "I watched the Anomaly kill him."

No part of that answer makes sense. "What do you mean Anomaly? And Papyrus is fine. He made you cameraman for his fashion show yesterday, I _saw_ the pictures...

He meets your eyes, "In a different timeline Papyrus is murdered and I see it happen."

"fuck," you whisper.

You just stare at him for a moment unable to process that information. Before you can, he looks away and continues, "I've been getting memories from different timelines for the past couple months."

"Timelines? Like _collapsed_ timelines? That shit's real?"

Sans just nods, leans his elbows on his knees and puts his head in his hands.

This is so fucked up. What do you even say to that?

"That's so fucked up," you say. Then two things add up and you realize something else. _"Oh no,"_ your breath leaves you as terror kicks in. "You think this timeline will collapse too, _don't you?"_

He looks over to you, so much pain behind his eyes, and admits, "I _know_ it will."

"Holy fuck," you cover your mouth with your hand. Sans just told you your world is going to end. You feel a little sick to your stomach.

"You believe me," he says, almost sounds surprised about it.

You look at him sharply and frown, "Sans, I've been asking for your honesty for over a month, I'm not going to reject that honesty when you finally give it to me."

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't."

"But seriously. Now is the time to fucking talk. I need to know _everything_ you know."

He actually looks reluctant. _Still?!_ Even after what he just told you?

"I need to know this," you say again, "I can't help you--I can't help _us_ \--the way I need to if you don't talk to me." When he still doesn't start spilling you stress, "Sans, this is _not_ protecting me, this is endangering us both."

"Yeah," he finally conceeds, "Yeah, okay Kid." He nods once, "I'm ready to talk."

"Thank you," you sigh.

You wake up.

. . .

It's your first night in the workshop trying to build the Detector. The first step to creating a device that can manipulate tempo-spacial anomalies... even though you don't know if it's even possible to _detect_ them.

But last night you learned your timeline will collapse unless you can stop it with this device.

You're not handling the news well. You take a deep breath trying to release the tension your body is holding in. It doesn't really work. And you still feel kind of sick to your stomach.

You're not letting your fear stop you though. You're doing you're best; keeping your wits and moving forward. Hoping and planning. Acting on hopeful plans.

You adjust the grinding machine so you can shape this piece for the Detector to precision specifications. Then you turn it on and start working.

It sends metal shavings flying in the direction of Sans--

"Fuck!" You forgot to put the guard down; you slam the button to turn it off. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry." You can actually see burn holes on his hoodie as he walks over to you. "I could have killed you," you realize.

He huffs, "I would take a lot more than that to kill me."

You put your hand on your head and feel your throat tense up; the back of your eyes feel sharp like you're close to tears--you need to take a break right now. You head to the wall, lean and slide down to sit on the floor. Sans drops down to sit next to you.

"You're usually a little accident prone Kid, but not actually dangerous, what's going on?"

"I think I'm just freaking out. This is all going to end if we don’t create this impossible device. No, not just end, it will never start, we’ll never know each other, and we’ll never get the chance to."

"Yeah, you're not wrong."

You huff a laugh, "Wow, you’re shit for bedside manner."

"You said you wanted honesty, Chuckles. And that’s what you’re getting. A hundred percent, all the time."

"Heh, yeah, okay. I'm thankful for that." You take a deep breath. "Guess it just means I've gotta be the hopeful one of the two of us, huh?"

"Yeah, my hope ran out a long time ago."

You search his face and see the truth in that statement. It pulls at your heart. "How do you keep going?" you ask.

"Don’t think I _can_ stop trying, even when I know there is no chance of success."

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

"Isn't it?" he asks.

"I don't think so," you tell him honestly. "But uh, this, we have a chance with this, don’t we?"

He studies you and his expression softens. "Yeah, I think we have a chance with this."

You let out a tentative smile. Then you notice something, "Fuck! Sans, you’re bleeding!"

He reaches up to the point on his neck you can't look away from. He pulls away a bloody hand. "Oh, huh. Yeah, guess I am," he doesn't sound alarmed.

You are. But you've got some training and it helps you by kicking in. "Here, I’ll get the first aid kid. I can patch you up."

"Don’t need it. I just need to eat some of my food."

"Really?!"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hotdog, brings it to his teeth. A bite of it phases past his teeth and disappears. He turns so you can watch the cut on his neck heal crazy fast.

"That's amazing!" Monster biology must be so different than human biology. "I wish i could do that," you say. "Is that an ability of all monsters?"

"It's an attribute of monster food. It's made of magic and it instantly turns into energy as soon as it enters your body." He smirks at your enthusiasm. "It would work on you too, Nerd."

"Next time I get hurt I've got to try it," you say excited. Then you think about something else, "Um, so, you bleed," you say. "I didn’t expect that."

He looks away just like he did when he was refusing to answer your questions. But this time he does respond, "Other monsters don’t."

"Oh." You don't ask the question you want to, _Why are you different?_ You're trying to find a balance between pushing for answers and letting him keep some of his secrets. You can feel there is a line here Sans doesn't want to cross. "What happens when monsters get hurt?" you ask instead.

Sans turns back and looks grateful. "They just get weaker and less determined to keep going."

"But eating magic food helps?"

"Yes, and healing magic. Rest. Some other things."

"But they don’t bleed?"

"No."

"Can they die?"

"Yes. But their bodies turn into dust when they die. Still no blood. Monsters have bodies made of mostly magic."

"And your body?" you ask, hoping this isn't pushing into whatever Sans wants to avoid talking about.

His pause is short though. "Something like half magic, half physical."

"Amazing."

The expression in his eyes shifts to a smile when it becomes apparent you're not pushing for more. You feel pretty confident you made the right choice.

You wake up.

. . .

You look at the clock for the fifth time this minute and grumble at yourself. _Stop freaking out dork._

Why are you freaking out so much? You've hung out with Sans hundreds of times and a non-zero number of those were just for the fuck of it. It's not like this is a _date_ or anything

Wait... 

_\--is this_ a date?

Is this a subtle way of moving yourselves out of the friend-zone?

Oh my gosh, why the fuck haven't you thought about this before _now!?_

Maybe you should re-read every text you ever sent each other so you can agonize over this question with a more complete data set.

 _No._ Wow. You should definitely not do that.

It doesn't really sound like the helpful option for your anxiety right now.

Or, you know, particularly sane.

You look at the clock again. _Fuck!_ How can it _still_ be four fifty- _fucking_ -two!

Alright, fuck this, you need something to distract your brain. You pick up your phone and hit your messenger app. You click on "sans" and scroll all the way to the top.

sans  
  
**8/5/17** 5:35 AM  
Me: Here's my number.  
  
**8/7/17** 10:03 PM  
Me: My office mate left for the night so drop by whenever you're free.  
  
**8/11/17** 9:30 PM  
Me: Office is empty. Want to continue that debate we were having on tempo-spacial structure theories?  
  
sans: sure  
  
Me: Did you get a chance to read those papers?  
  
sans: yep  
  
**8/14/17** 9:50 PM  
Me: Finished compiling the data set. Wanna come do graphical analysis and analyze the graphs?  
  
sans: sounds fun  
  
sans: be there in 30  
  
**8/16/17** 9:45 PM  
Me: Jim just left.  
  
**8/18/17** 9:30 PM  
Me: Coast clear.  
  
**8/20/17** 9:55 AM  
Me: Thanks for joining me for the eclipse. I had a really great time.  
  
sans: me too kid  
  
**8/23/17** 10:05 PM  
Me: Got a new data set today, bring your laptop so we can compile twice as fast.  
  
sans: see you in 10  
  
**8/25/17** 10:15 PM  
sans: coast clear yet?  
  
Me: My office mate isn't leaving   
  
**8/25/17** 11:05 PM  
Me: I just realized something. We could totally do this research at my apartment. I live alone and we both have laptops.  
  
Me: I feel like an idiot right now.  
  
Me: How does your teleportation work? Can I just give you the coordinates?  
  
sans: can't teleport into a house I've never been in  
  
sans: but I can teleport onto the roof of the physics building  
  
sans: think we can get to your place without being seen?  
  
Me: Yeah! There's a path through the woods. No one will be on it this late.  
  
sans: let's do it  
  
Me: I'll meet you on the roof.  
  
Me: Just need to pack up.  
  
sans: cool  
  
Me: OMG just realized if you can teleport into my apartment after you see it we can totally work during the day.  
  
Me: Mind blown right now dude.  
  
**8/31/17** 2:43 PM  
sans: got another one for you  
  
sans: what do you call a skeleton who stays out in the snow too long?  
  
Me: I don't know, what?  
  
sans: a numbskull  
  
Me: Okay, I actually like that one.  
  
**9/2/17** 11:48 AM  
Me: I'm at the grocery store right now picking up some beverages to have at my place for when you come over. What do you like?  
  
sans: chocolate milk  
  
sans: tea  
  
sans: black or chai  
  
sans: ketchup  
  
Me: To drink?  
  
sans: yep  
  
Me: Alright. Chocolate milk, chai leafs, and bulk ketchup it is.  
  
**9/3/17** 4:55 PM  
Me: Hey, running late, you can get started without me.  
  
Me: This homework problem is being a bitch and Kate and I don't want to quit until we take it out.  
  
sans: already here and working kid  
  
**9/5/17** 6:17 PM  
sans: what's a skeleton's favorite instrument?  
  
Me: His "bone"?  
  
sans: heh. close kid  
  
sans: the trom-bone  
  
Me: Nice.  
  
**9/6/17** 4:21 PM  
Me: Tell me a joke to distract me from the asshole who keeps coughing in my face.  
  
sans: why didn't the skeleton dance at the party?  
  
Me: I don't know, why?  
  
sans: he had no body to dance with  
  
Me: Oh   
  
Me: I'd dance with a skeleton.  
  
sans: that might not work out well for either of you  
  
Me: Ha ha, jerk. I don't fall all of the time.  
  
sans: what do skeletons say before they eat?  
  
Me: Dunno, what?  
  
sans: bone appetite  
  
Me: Bet you love that one.  
  
sans: you're not wrong  
  
**9/8/17** 3:49 PM  
Me: Just made up a joke, want to hear it?  
  
sans: definitely  
  
Me: How did the psychologist help the skeleton?  
  
sans: i don't know, how?  
  
Me: In-cranium-mentally.  
  
sans: lol, nice  
  
Me: Nah, it kinda sucks but I'm proud of myself anyway.  
  
sans: so… you've been thinking about skeleton jokes  
  
Me: That sounds like a not particularly direct way of asking if I've been thinking about you.  
  
sans: have you?  
  
Me: The answer to that much more direct question is  
  
Me: Yes.  
  
**9/12/17** 8:05 PM  
sans: whattaya doing tonight?  
  
Me: Checking out this sci-fi movie at the budget theater.  
  
Me: It's late on a week night. It'll be dark, probably almost no one would be there. You could bone with me.  
  
sans: that took a surprising turn  
  
Me: Oh my gosh! *come with me. Come with me to the theater. Don't bone me at the theater.  
  
Me: Damn this auto erect.  
  
sans: think your phone might have ulterior motives  
  
Me: I'm not going to rule it out.  
  
Me: So, are you coming?  
  
sans: sure  
  
**9/13/17** 1:50 PM  
sans: how does the skeleton get around?  
  
Me: Lol. He skeleports!  
  
sans: uh… yes  
  
Me: I've been working on that same joke.  
  
sans: heh, nice  
  
**9/16/17** 6:05 PM  
Me: Hey, what's going on? Thought you'd be here by now. I'm about to start the stimulation without you.  
  
sans: well, wouldn't wanna miss that  
  
Me: *simulation. Duck this phone.  
  
Me: *fuck tits phone.  
  
Me: OH MY GOSH *THIS BONER.  
  
Me:   
  
Me: JUST WHERE ARE YOU?!!  
  
Me: Come save me from myself!  
  
sans: working on it  
  
sans: Papyrus is just lecturing me about how my "sock fetish" is unhealthy  
  
Me: You have a sock fetish?  
  
Me: …interesting...  
  
sans: i'm not sure he really knows the meaning of the word fetish  
  
Me: So you don't have a sock fetish?  
  
sans: i didn't say that  
  
**9/17/17** 11:46 AM  
Me: Busy?  
  
sans: nope  
  
Me: Come over early and watch the Matrix with me?  
  
Me: It's for research.  
  
Me: Very important.  
  
sans: okay  
  
**9/18/17** 11:34 AM  
sans: doing alright?  
  
Me: Honestly? Not really.  
  
Me: But right now I'm just focused on making plans.  
  
sans: good. that's what we need  
  
**9/18/17** 7:22 PM  
Me: I reserved the workshop for us all night. Make sure to pack your snark.  
  
sans: snark all packed up, kiddo  
  
Me: Oh fuck no. I don't need you to bring more of that than normal. Pack your *snack though.  
  
Me: And your lap dog.  
  
Me: *laptop  
  
sans: lap dog, check  
  
Me: Shot myself in the foot with this one, didn't I?  
  
sans: yep  
  
**9/19/17** 12:35 PM  
Me: Sans, the apples in my fridge are staring at me.  
  
sans: sounds alarming  
  
Me: Would you be able to explain to me why all my food has googly eyes now?  
  
sans: my best guess, some weirdo put googly eyes on it  
  
Me: You don't say.  
  
sans: just speculation  
  
**9/19/17** 3:23 PM  
Me: Humans can eat magic food, right?  
  
sans: yep  
  
Me: I totally want to try some.  
  
sans: do you like spaghetti?  
  
Me: Not really?  
  
sans: probably for the best  
  
**9/19/17** 6:23 PM  
sans: why is a skeleton bad at lying?  
  
Me: Dunno, why?  
  
sans: because you can see right through him  
  
Me: That's kinda true.  
  
sans: why is a skeleton so happy?  
  
Me: Dunno, tell me.  
  
sans: because nothing gets under their skin  
  
Me: Also kinda true.  
  
**9/20/17** 3:47 PM  
Me: We should cook some magical food.  
  
sans: like what?  
  
Me: A pie?  
  
sans: sure  
  
**9/21/17** 5:16 PM  
Me: What did the sock say to the hat?  
  
sans: dunno, what?  
  
Me: You go on a head. I'll go on foot.  
  
sans: heh, love it  
  
**9/22/17** 1:35 PM  
sans: what kind of pie do you like?  
  
sans: i have a friend with recipes  
  
Me: Any pie. All pie.  
  
sans: pie surprise it is  
  
**9/24/17** 11:59 PM  
sans: what did the femur say to the pelvis at the bar?  
  
Me: I don't know, what?  
  
sans: this is a hip joint  
  
Me: Clever.  
  
sans: what did the femur say to the patella?  
  
Me: Dunno, what?  
  
sans: i knee-ed you  
  
Me: Aww. That's a cute one.  
  
**9/25/17** 2:43 PM  
sans: when do you want to bake this pie?  
  
Me: How about next Saturday?  
  
sans: ok  
  
**9/26/17** 5:05 PM  
sans: shouldn'ta stayed up working so late, fell asleep on the job more than normal today  
  
sans: how're you doin' kid?  
  
Me: I'm doing alright. I took anal for a couple hours today and I feel better.  
  
Me: Much needed.  
  
sans: just laughed and spilled my ketchup  
  
sans: read what you sent me  
  
Me: Fuck this phone! That was supposed to say *a nap!  
  
sans: i'm getting glares for getting ketchup on the counter, but that was awesome  
  
sans: much needed anal  
  
sans: thanks for that, kid  
  
Me: Why does this keep happening? You're probably starting to wonder if I write smut on this phone or something.  
  
sans: i am now  
  
Me: Oh my gosh, why did I just say that?! Way to sell yourself out, idiot.  
  
sans: this explains a lot  
  
**9/27/17** 4:47 PM  
sans: why didn't the skeleton bring his boyfriend home for the holidays?  
Me: I don't know, why?  
sans: because he was a skeleton in the closet  
Me: Lol, just chuckled outloud.  
Me: You wrote that one yourself, didn't you?  
sans: yep  
Me: Clever.  
**9/28/17** 2:43 PM  
Me: What did the skeleton without socks say to the skeleton with socks?  
  
sans: don't know, what?  
  
Me: How de-bone-aire.  
  
sans: cute  
  
Me: It's really bad.  
  
sans: i like it anyway  
  
**9/28/17** 4:07 PM  
sans: what do they say at the end of a skeleton rock and roll concert?  
  
Me: Tell me, I'm dying to know.  
  
sans: Pelvis has left the building  
  
Me: Ha, lol.  
  
**9/29/17** 9:27 AM  
Me: Made another skeleton joke.  
  
sans: shoot  
  
Me: What did the child skeleton get in trouble for?  
  
sans: i don't know, what?  
  
Me: He told a fibia.  
  
sans: heh, awesome  
  
Me: What did the child skeleton do after getting in trouble?  
  
sans: dunno, what?  
  
Me: He skull-ked.  
  
sans: not bad kid, not bad  
  
sans: wait, aren't you in class right now?  
  
Me: Texting under the desk. Don't judge me.  
  
**9/30/17** 4:03 PM  
Me: When are you getting here?  
  
sans: still another hour  
  
Me: Grr.  
  


Okay.

You still don't know. Not for certain. You're both certainly friendly, playful. A couple of your comments imply you like him, but do his imply anything more than friendship?

Maybe Kate has an opinion?

You go to contacts and click on Kate, she picks up on the third ring.

You launch into it without preamble. "I need your help analyzing this. Sans is coming over to hang out and I'm not sure if it's a date-hangout or a friend-hangout."

"Alright, calm down. Let's consolidate the relevant information," Kate says, on board right away.

"Alright," you say, relived that _someone_ has a plan.

"You like him, right?" Kate asks, "Like date-like him?"

"Yeah. Definitely," you confess, "But I'm not sure he likes me the same way."

"Okay. What are you doing together tonight?"

"Baking a pie."

"Oh. Well, that sounds pretty date-hangout to me."

"True, but it's something you and I would possibly do together," you point out. "We do make pizza together."

"Do you both really like pie?"

"I do. I think he does too?"

"So it might be just about the pie?" Kate pieces it out, "You're worried it's more about the pie. Alright, so let's look for other clues. Who initiated the hangout?"

"I did," then you think about it, "but he did more of the planning."

"Okay, that's a positive," Kate reassures. "Do you flirt? Banter?"

"Again, not much more than you and I," you admit.

"Not a disqualifier. Lots of people used to think we were dating." And she's got a point. "How about physical contact?" she asks.

"We don't really touch much. …But…"

"Don't leave me hangin' here babe, but _what?"_

"One time he let me touch his skin," you confess, "I put my hand on his cheek."

"That's, like, a pretty romantic action. How did he react?"

"He blushed when I asked. He closed his eyes when I touched him. His voice was a bit deep for a moment after."

"Uh, yeah. He totally likes you babe. I would say chances are _really good_ that this is a date."

 _"Oh my gosh._ How did I get myself into this so unprepared! I don't have time to plan anything--should I say something about it being a date?--shoud I try to kiss him?"

"Dude, calm the fuck down. This isn't quantum field theory. This is just you and the guy you like having a nice time together. All you need to do is try to have fun. If something happens, cool. If not, that's cool too."

"Yeah. Yeah. Thanks Kate." You take a deep breath and then your phone beeps. "He just texted me-- _I gotta go."_

"Good luck, goober! And call me later, I need the deets!"

You hang up and look at your texts.

sans  
  
**9/30/17** 5:05 PM  
sans: just got out, I'm grabing the ingredients and recipe  
  
sans: see you in 5  
  


You take another deep breath and try to channel your inner chill. You text back.

sans  
  
**9/30/17** 5:05 PM  
sans: just got out, I'm grabing the ingredients and recipe  
  
sans: see you in 5  
  
Me: Cool. See you soon.  
  


You wake up.

. . .

Sans teleports into your living room carrying a cloth shopping bag full if ingredients.

"Hi," you say.

"Hi, yourself," he responds, "You ready for this, Kid? My friend with the recipes got all this together for us. She was a bit enthusiastic. We're apparently making one of her favorite recipes, butterscotch-cinnamon pie."

"Well, that sounds amazing." You grab your apron where it's hanging up, slip it over your head and tie it behind your back. "Now I'm ready," you proclaim.

"You know," Sans starts, examining you, "I should have realized cooking with you would be an apron affair. You're probably going to spill ingredients all over me, aren't you?"

"Hey, I'm not _that_ clumsy," you defend yourself, "This is mostly for style."

 _"Yeah..._ I believe that," he says, not believing that.

"No hatin' on the apron," you chide. "I happen to know I look adorable in this."

"I can tease you if I want," he says back. "But, I _will_ admit the other part is true, Pumpkin Pie. You're not wrong about being adorable."

You bite your lip and feel unreasonably bubbly for a second. "Alright!" you say a little too loudly, "Ehem, so. Let's do some _science,_ yeah?"

"Science, huh? Well, why don't you create the universe and I'll put ingredients in a bowl."

"That doesn't sound remotely even," you complain. "How about we both put ingredients in the bowl and you stop quoting Carl Sagan?"

"Heh. Caught that did you?" he looks a little proud you did.

"Surprised?" you tease, "You're gunna get yourself in trouble if you start underestimating me."

"And this _trouble,"_ his expression goes a little warm, "...is something I should avoid?"

Your eyes go wide. _Wow,_ did he mean for it to come out _that_ suggestively? "I--um--well..." Dammit, brain totally failing right now. "...I suppose if you test me, we'll find out," you finally manage.

You turn to the bag of ingredients and start taking them out.

Sans says quietly to your back, "Lookin forward to it." He can probably see the back of your neck blush, you're feeling _really_ warm. You aren't avoiding the flirting, you actually really fucking want it. But right now you are trying to navigate between the thoughts Sans inspired about what you might actually _do_ if he wants to be "in trouble" and your own feelings of banter inadequacy; you just need a second to regroup.

Unfortunately your nerves have you elbowing the half gallon of milk like a bumbling idiot. It dominoes to the floor taking the butter, cinnamon, and corn starch with it. _"Fuck."_

"That doesn't go there, Butter-fly," Sans teases, kneeling down to help you pick stuff up. You both go for the butter at the same time and your hand lands on his.

Somehow that quick flutter of your skin against his flips a switch on the tone; from playful and teasing to... quiet and warm. You look up through your lashes and notice his cheeks are tinted like you know yours have to be.

For an ill-defined reason, you both start talking hushed. He hands you the butter and you mutter, "Thanks."

"Sure thing Fumbles," he whispers.

You find yourself suddenly hyper aware of his hands; can't keep your gaze from sliding over to them.

You so badly want to reach out.

And you don't think you're the only one who wants that.

When you start the recipe together...

[](http://cookfiction.com/recipes/butterscotch-cinnamon-pie.html)

you keep brushing hands. Small touches that could be accidental _but definitely aren't._ He hands you the sugar and your fingers slide over his. You give him the cream and his fingers cover yours a second longer than needed.

Each time it happens your breath catches. Your lung capacity feels a fourth what it should be with how shallow your inhales are right now. It's starting to affect your head.

This isn't just you, right? It can't be just you.

You so badly want to acknowledge it. You want one of you to admit it outloud; to say, 'Can I touch you? I really want to touch you.'

Neither of you does.

Instead you just keep cooking.

The research you've been doing together translates well to this. You move in coordination much more skillfully than your experience would suggest. It almost feels like dancing.

And he keeps teasing you, even if the tone is gentler. "You're going to burn the sugar," he says, softly affectionate.

"No I'm not. It's supposed to look like that."

"Lumpy?"

"Yes?"

"Is it supposed to smell like that too?"

"Relax Dude," you reassure, "it's going to be fine. This is what cooking is like."

"Stumbling around worrying you screwed things up?"

"Yeah," you laugh because that's a pretty accurate description of what cooking is like for you. "But then it all works out," you smirk at him.

"Our pie is going to be so derpy," he teases.

"It will taste great," you say confidently, "that's what matters."

You flip the recipe over, it has a note on the top under 'Instructions'; you double take and stare at it.

[](http://cookfiction.com/recipes/butterscotch-cinnamon-pie.html)

"Hey, what's up?" he snatches the recipe out of your hands and looks at it. He freezes. After a beat he glances up at you, eyes wide with surprise. "Uh, just so ya know, I did not say this was a date," Sans defends himself. "My friend made an assumption."

Oh my gosh.

Alright, you need to say something. Agonizing over this all night will make you miserable. Even more miserable then being rejected. "So, uh, I may have… made the same assumption. Was I… wrong about that?"

"Oh," Sans says in surprise. "Um…" but he doesn't say anything else. He turns his head to the side and won't meet your eyes.

"Sans…" You swallow, take a lungfull of bravery, "I'm not the only one who feels like this, right? I really thought you..." You thought he what? Liked you back? Wanted to touch you as much as you want to touch him? ...Wanted to kiss you too?

"Kid..." he says, like he's trying to turn you down easy and can't find the words.

"...I want to kiss you so bad," you admit, full disclosure, then go for direct, "Do you… want to kiss me too?"

He turns back to you, your hopes rise at the look in his eyes. It _isn't_ rejection. "Kid, I can't," he says, "I _physically can't_ kiss you."

"Oh," you say, surprised, "That doesn't matter." You re-word your question, "Sans, I really _really_ like you. I want us to date. For as long as we've got. Do you want _that_ too?"

"If I'm being honest..." he just holds your eyes, then, "Yes," he confesses in a whisper, "very much so."

Your breathing goes funny.

"But I don't think it's a good idea," he adds.

You take a small step forward. "And why would that be?"

"I don't want to hurt you," he looks down. And back up, "I don't want to hurt me."

"Which do you think you'd regret more? Being with me and losing me, or never being together at all?"

"I have no idea."

 _"I do."_ You take the last step and put your hand to his cheek. His expression is lost and longing.

You bite your lip to keep yourself from actually begging. His eyes move down to follow the motion and you release your lip under his sudden scrutiny. He reaches up to gently trace the shape of your mouth with his fingertips. You feel it like tingling fire through your whole body. Your eyes slide shut and your breathing goes fast and uneven.

 _"Wow,"_ you exhale. Sans _is_ kissing you right now. You _know_ that's what this is.

Sans takes a shaky breath and whispers, "You're not wrong."

You open your eyes and look down at him; his breathing is just as fucked as yours.

"Sans," you whimper "is this a yes?"

"Yes," he breathes.

You wake up.

. . .

Clear your schedule tonight

To: Kate

Date: October 11, 2017

From: Me

So, you should come over after class. You're gunna want to hear about last night's dream in person.

. . .

You decide it's time to be crazy. "Hey, Sans," you reach over, place your hand on top of his for a moment, like you're asking for all his attention, "I was thinking about the Distrupter today-- _and I've got an idea."_

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So, you know how my headphones were tragically stolen last week? I was having a little trouble dealing and decided to try to get something out of the situation, learn a lesson or whatever. Then it hit me--a solution to our Distrupter problem."

"Not following yet, Kid. Explain."

"Right. So, you know how noise-canceling headphones cancel sound by creating a interfering wave? Exact same amplitude but opposite phase as the background noise? So, what if we added a second gravity crystal and made a second wave, a cancellation wave for the Disputer wave? I think we could give it a boundary. I think we could stabilize it." You pause, because this is the coolest part, "Sans, I think we could make a _portal._ "

"Shit Einstein," Sans eyes go wide, "that might work."

"So, do you think you can get another gravity crystal?"

"I don't know," he looks to the side and thinks about it then adds, "But I have a backup idea if we can't."

"What's your backup?"

"We could split the crystal in half. I think there is enough to make both the stabalizing wave and the destabalizing wave."

"Yeah, I didn't even _think of that."_

This is why the two of you make such a great team. The way you think is a great mix of similar and totally different.

You bite your lip, a little overexited for this next part. You blurt, "So--I had another idea too."

His eyes reflect your enthusiasm back, "Yeah, Gizmo? What's your idea?"

"We should call it the Skeleton Key."

"Heh. That's _perfect."_

You beam at him; he loves it like you knew he would. You're feeling so proud of yourself you almost miss the coy tone Sans uses next.

"So, you still haven't found your headphones, huh?"

Your eyes go wide.

"Oh my gosh Sans, did you do something? You did something, didn't you?!"

"Stardust," he chastises, "I don't know where every tempo-spacially displaced object goes." His tone says _you're_ being ridiculous and his smile is the same as always but you swear little punk looks _smug._

"Sans! I've been traumatized all week! Where are they?" But, as soon as you ask, you realize you know the answer; they're in your fridge. "Sans," you say as calmly as you can manage, "fucking with my headphones was too far."

"Is that right Sassafras?" he says it like he's daring you to do something about it.

"It sounds like you _want_ to be in trouble," he not-answers your not-question with more smugness. "In that case, I'm not doing _anything."_ You see him finally get it and you concede, "Dial it back a couple clicks and then we'll talk about it."

"Noted," he says, tone finally serious. "Fair enough Kiddo. And... sorry."

You wake up.

. . .

Good News and Bad News

To: Kate

Date: October 11, 2017

From: Me

The good news is I remembered the blueprints for the Detector. I also remembered the blueprints for the second device we were working on, a portal device we called the Skeleton Key.

The bad news is they both require a component that doesn't exist in our world.

I need something called a gravity crystal to make the devices work.

Fuck.

I don't know what to do. I'm going to keep doing the research, as much as I can anyway. But I think you are our best hope now Kate.

. . .

You and Sans are laying out under the stars. You missed the meteor shower you were planning on watching so you're just out to enjoy the fall night sky. It's pretty chilly but between the warmth from Sans and the blankets above and below your bodies, you're doing alright.

Your head is on Sans' belly so your bodies are roughly in the shape of a T. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through your hair. His other arm is holding you. You (mindedly) trace your fingers over the lines and contours of his hand where it rests on your belly.

"You really don't think this is going to work?" you ask, apparently unable to just enjoy the moment for what it is.

"There's a crack in the crystal, Stardust," Sans says patiently, "There's almost no chance it will split like we need it to."

"And there are no other crystals," it's not really a question. You've already covered this. Asking again doesn't change the answer.

"The one we have is literally the only one in the world. Both of our worlds. I really tried Kid."

"Well, then, we know what we have to do."

"I don't like this."

"I know," you empathize. "But this is the only way we can stop the Anomaly from destroying timelines. We don't have any other viable options."

"We could pretend it's not happening?" he suggests again.

"We're not giving up," you squeeze his hand tight for a moment. You just don't know what to do with his fatalism. Out stubborn it?

You take a couple deep breaths and Sans goes back to running his fingers through your hair. You feel your body relax.

"So contingency plan," you start, reiterating it for the nth time, "if the crystal doesn't pan out we plan for after the timeline collapse. The plan is we _remember._ Remembering shouldn't be hard, we've kept all our emotionally charged moments to a couple kisses and angsting over the fucking research. Nothing should get in the way of the relevant memories coming back quickly."

"If remembering doesn't work then you won't miss me anyway," Sans states. "You'll be safe." It almost sounds like that's what he's hoping for.

You continue pointedly, "When I've replicated our research I come down the Waterfall portal, _not_ the Ruins portal. The we finish the research in the Underground together."

"I hate that part the most."

"So you've said." Your voice comes out a bit bitchier than intended but, dammit, Sans isn't being very helpful right now. 

Sans lets out a big sigh. "Whataya want from me, Stardust?" He sounds sure that whatever you want it's ginna be something he can't give you.

You exhale slowly. Your sass doesn't help the situation either. And Sans is everything you want already. "Just hold me, okay?" you ask.

"That I can do Kiddo. That I can do." His ATM tightens around you with a hint of desperation.

That same feeling has you squeeze his hand with all your strength.

You wake up.

. . .

Anything Yet?

To: Kate

Date: October 28, 2017

From: Me

Are you having any luck? I'm really starting to despair... I just want so badly to find him.

But I'm so lost as to how.

. . .

You memorize the feel of his skin and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

Devastation is trying to set in and you fight against it. Touch of skin, sound of breath, you have to keep refocusing on those two things or your brain starts to chew on the current problem; the crystal was destroyed when you tried to split it.

Now you're supposed to just wait for the world to end. And then _if_ everything lines up you can try again. Is there a promise you'll even _get_ a second chance?

Dammit. You're thinking about it again. "Stay the night?" you ask.

"Okay," he says easily even though he's never stayed with you all night before, definitely not in your bed with you. But it feels like the right choice.

"Just for tonight let's pretend this is all there is," you say, giving in to his ignore-the-problem plan. "Tomorrow we will start trying to solve this, but right now, let's just enjoy each other."

"Did you want to… do something… tonight?" he asks.

"Do you?" you answer.

"Honestly? …I don't know."

"Okay. Good. Because right now I just want to sleep next you. We'll have other nights," you say, trying to make it true with your willpower alone. Having sex right now would be admitting this is the end. You aren't ready to admit that at all.

You lay on your sides, facing each other, hands meeting between you, and watch each other get drowsier.

You find him slowly blinking with heavy tired lids extremely adorable but you don't want to fall asleep yet. Can't you just hold this moment forever?

"Tell me a joke?" you ask.

He snorts but after a moment he says, voice cozy, "I read a book about anti-gravity the other day. I couldn't put it down."

You chuckle. "I love it." You almost follow that with 'I love you' but you pause too long and the moment is lost.

After a bit he asks, "Think you'll remember me?"

"I'd never forget you," you say with conviction, willinging it true with everything you have. You watch him slowly blink and you feel heartbroken. 

Dammit. Not again. You don't want to think sad thoughts. This time Sans was the one to bring it up though. You shrug it off and just let your eyes take in his face. He looks relaxed. Mostly content. His body is warm and close. You feel a little better.

"I have a joke for you," you say.

"I want to hear it," he answers, opening tired eyes to give you his attention.

"Okay. A sad skeleton says to his partner, 'I'm sorry, I can't fall in love, I don't have a heart.'" Your voice goes soft, "His partner replies, 'Yes you do, you've already got mine.'"

He looks at you like you are the most adorable person he's ever seen and you feel elated. He leans up and puts his arm on the other side of your head, slowly leans down touch his forehead to yours in your version of a chaste kiss.

"Ditto," he says and you feel your heart get stuck in your throat. You both just hold that contact for a moment, feeling connected with something more than physical touch. And for that moment you believe in sappy shit like soul mates and fate and love conquering all.

It fades though. You know that's not how things actually work, there are no promises.

"I really hope this isn't the end," Sans whispers.

"I'm going to make sure it's not," you say. You are stubborn, clever, and in love; if that isn't enough then probably nothing would be.

You wake up.

. . .

Your phone rings, it's Sans. He's never called before--you pick up right away.

"--Where are you?" Sans asks before you can speak.

"Just got out of class, why?"

"It's happening." You hear panic in his voice; you know exactly what he's talking about.

Your throat is suddenly tight. "Oh no," you feel yourself freeze up and you shake your head to get your wits back. "I need to see you," you say. You start running, "--my office, can you meet me there?"

"Yeah," he says, then, "I'm here, Kid." Ten seconds later you open the door and you're there too.

"Sans…" you drop your phone and run into his arms, your eyes start to tear up. "This is so fucked up," you whisper.

"You're not wrong," Sans answers, voice just as affected.

"But we knew this would happen," you continue, trying to be the hope of the team. "We're ready for it. All we have to do is remember. Remember the plan."

"Gunna do everything I can to, Kiddo,"

"We'll remember," you say with more confidence than you feel. "When I remember I'll recreate our research. When I've gotten as far as I can, I go to Ebott, take the Waterfall entrance to the Underground. The Ruins entrance, the giant hole in the ground, is rigged, I need to stay the fuck away from it."

"That is the most important part, do not forget that," Sans says squeezing you.

"I won't forget, I promise," you reassure. "Okay, I'll be bringing the unfinished Skeleton Key. I won't have the crystal but I can replicate exactly what we did so it will be ready. We'll have three days to figure out how to make the Key work." You've stated the plan out loud so many times, you're sure _one_ of the times will come back to you.

"I still hate this plan," Sans says.

"You know this is our best chance," you remind him. "And you know you wouldn't be able to stop me if you tried."

"Yeah. I know that Punk."

Softer, hopeful, you add, "And part of you wants me there. Wants me beside you, trying to solve this."

"You're not wrong about that either," he confesses.

"You'll be seeing me soon," you reassure him. "It's only going to feel like a day or two for you."

"You gunna be able to handle months without me?"

"No," you say and lean your forehead against his. You just breathe him in, trying to hold onto how it feels to be in his arms. He always smells a little like cedar and grilled hotdogs. He always feels like rock, magic, and home.

"Sans, is there anything else I should know?" you ask. "This is our last chance."

"Yeah, Stardust, I didn't say it before but I lo--"

everything goes black... foggy black emptiness... the emptiness slides away into Nothing... you grasp for it... but everything is fading... you focus all the power you have into--A voice. You hear a voice. Your own voice... wake up--remember him--you have to remember him-- remember sans--you have to remember sans--wake up idiot--wake up-- _wake up_ \----[Wake up.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13097976/chapters/29980023#pagetop)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end.


	17. search

go back and search the darkness for your memories


	18. For Sans

  
  
  
  
  


. . . . . sans . . . . .

TO BE CONTINUED

. . .

  
  
  
  
  


Did you enjoy the first part of Bone Dreams and now you want to do something about it? I have options for you!  
  


**A.** Check out the [writers, artists, and creators](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/29965635#pagetop) who wrestled into existence the inspiration and help for this work!  
  


**B.** Help me add more [Diverse Protag Sci-Fi](https://www.patreon.com/samshep) into the world (including specifically **Skeleton Key** , the second installment of Bone Dreams) by supporting me on Patreon.  
  


**C.** Feedback! Kudos! Or go back to [The Beginning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620064#pagetop) and try another timeline! (PS. I like to think of this story as a book-game hybrid and I will be periodically updating it with "patches" aka editing and improving it. Please help me make it even more awesome! Give me all your feedbacks; thoughts, con-compliments and con-criticisms. I _love_ feedback.)  
  


**D.** Look for updates at [SamShepWrites](https://samshepwrites.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.  
  


_What's going to happen when Reader gets to the Underground?_

Stay tuned for the next book of the Bone Dreams series titled, **Skeleton Key.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please share your characters in the comments! I want to hear about your Main Character! What's their name? What do they look like? What's their gender identity?  
> How difficult was it to imagine your character in this story?  
> I tried really hard to keep them near the center of the gender spectrum so they would work for guy, girl, or non-binary. Let me know if it worked. I can use feedback and improve!  
> 


	19. Acknowledgments

Lots of Thank Yous!

Thanks to [La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza) and [CodenameCarrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameCarrot/pseuds/CodenameCarrot) for the amazing tutorials on how to make ao3 skins. I think it adds so much that the [notes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414436), [emails](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7953412), and [texts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722) look like notes, emails, and texts! I had so much fun coding for this and it's all thanks to them.

Thank you to [TinyBeeCards](https://www.etsy.com/people/TinyBeeCards) for letting me put the ["Dill With It" Pickle Mug](https://www.etsy.com/listing/458029686/funny-mug-dill-with-it-funny-coffee-mug?ref=shop_home_active_14) picture and mug in my story. It's super cute, isn't it?!

You should all go appreciate the artist who made the wonderful pictures for my file folder articles, [alganiq](https://alganiq.deviantart.com/) on DeviantArt. All pictures owned by them.

And also the talented artist who drew the Sans doodles for the file folders, [AnarchyPuppet](https://anarchypuppet.deviantart.com/) on DeviantArt. Aren't these adorable?

Special thanks to [Emily Nagoski](http://www.emilynagoski.com) who wrote [Come as You Are](https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/1476762090/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=&sr=;tag=samshepwrites-20): The Surprising New Science That Will Transform Your Sex Life, (which in case you were curious, was a main component in Sans' sex research {thank you Alphys}). This book was a lot of help and inspiration for me in trying to work out the details to be realistic, sex-positive, body-positive, and hopefully _sexy_ for my extremely explicit 7000+ word sex scenes. I seriously can't recommend this book enough for anyone with a female body, female gender identity, female bodied or identified partner, or probably anyone who is interested in sex with themself and/or others. It's a good book. [Check it out](https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/1476762090/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=&sr=;tag=samshepwrite-20), I think you'll be glad you did.

And now I want to take a moment to thank [TotalSkeletonTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotalSkeletonTrash/pseuds/TotalSkeletonTrash) for their talent, perseverance, and bravery in writing [Chill Or Be Chilled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387672/chapters/12443822). Bone Dreams started as a seed of a thought while reading Chill Or Be Chilled. I was just really wishing there was something like this for Sans/Male!Reader. And me being me, I didn't want to stop there and decided to make an AnyGender!Reader with Sans romance OR friendship Choose Your Own Adventure. ...It's been quite the trip.

Anyway, Chill Or Be Chilled is a delight to read and a classic in the Sans/Reader fandom and it helped me reset my brain whenever I got a little too tired of looking at the words I had written. You've probably read it already, but if you haven't, then let me lead you to it. As TST says, '[just go for it you brave soul, you beautiful wretched disaster you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387672/chapters/12443822).'

Thank you to [CookFiction](http://cookfiction.com/recipes/butterscotch-cinnamon-pie.html) for making the recipe that I based the one in this story off of. I only made a couple small edits. I even cooked it up as research, check this out! It was delicious.

Lastly, and mostly, thanks to Toby Fox for making Undertale a thing that exists and inspires so many of us. I hope I honored the character(s) and the spirit of Undertale with this story. If I can infuse one message into my writing to leave you with, it would be this:

_Try to understand and find compassion for people who are different from you. There is more to every person but you have to be open to see it._

This list is not comprehensive, there are many others who I want to thank because they answered questions or gave me support, told me they were willing to read what I wrote or let me talk for hours about my story. Thank you to all of you too, you know who you are.

And how about a shout out to these socks!

"Sans, I can't see the socks, take the slippers off."

"Nope."

"Please?"

*Sigh. "Yeah, I can't say no to you Kid. You're just too damn cute."

Solmate socks: [Lily](https://www.amazon.com/Solmate-Socks-Mismatched-Ankle-Lily/dp/B004TSKABS/ref=lp_6182327011_1_5?srs=6182327011&ie=UTF8&qid=1515955903&sr=8-5&th=1;tag=samshepwrites-20) and [Violet](https://www.amazon.com/Solmate-Socks-Mismatched-Ankle-Violet/dp/B00BCMG6IA/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1515955566&sr=8-5&keywords=solmate;tag=samshepwrites-20).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awesome vintage [crossword puzzle](http://boulevardelantique-retroscraps.blogspot.com/2015/10/old-crossword-graphics.html) source.


	20. Links Didn't Work?

It was brought to my attention that the links don't work on all browsers appropriately. Since the story obviously _does not work_ without the links, I decided to make a story navigation cheat sheet for those of you who have problematic browsers.

There are 5 main routes of Bone Dreams (BD):

**The Three Romance Paths By Name**

[1\. Sock Tease](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#socktease) \- (Compassion)  
[2\. Pie Partners](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#piepartners) \- (Communication)  
[3\. Star Crossed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#starcrossed) \- (Searching)

**The Two Friendship Paths By Name**

[4\. Sci Bros](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#scibro) \- (Know)  
[5\. Pen Pals](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#penpals) \- (Care)

The following three questions will help you choose your path.

**Do you want a romantic relationship with Sans or a friendship?**

Romantic -> 1, 2, 3

Friendship -> 4, 5

**If romance, do you think it is more important to do research to find answers or go searching for Sans right away?**

Research -> 1, 2

Searching -> [3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#starcrossed)

**(If you didn't choose searching) Which is more important; to know more about what's going on or to show Sans you care by not pushing for info?**

Know -> [2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#piepartners) (romance), [4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#scibro) (friendship)

Care -> [1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#socktease) (romance), [5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/31735626#penpals) (friendship)

The maps for each path are here.

**1\. Sock Tease**

[BD Chapter 2: Beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620064#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 4:Journal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620328#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 6: Romantically](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28765107#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 9: Research](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28830270#pagetop)  
[BD (m) Chapter 2: Compassion](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13062303/chapters/29879193#pagetop)  
[dreams end (sock tease) Chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13097934/chapters/29979987#pagetop) (Chapter 3 is the attachment from the email and Chapters 4-9 are the pages in the file folder)  
[BD Chapter 18: For Sans](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/29965590#pagetop)

**2\. Pie Partners**

[BD Chapter 2: Beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620064#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 4:Journal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620328#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 6: Romantically](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28765107#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 9: Research](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28830270#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 16: Communication](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28705360#pagetop)  
[dreams end (lab partners) Chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13097976/chapters/29980023#pagetop) (Chapter 3 is the attachment from the email and Chapters 4-10 are the pages in the file folder)  
[BD Chapter 18: For Sans](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/29965590#pagetop)

**3\. Star Crossed**

[BD Chapter 2: Beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620064#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 4:Journal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620328#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 6: Romantically](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28765107#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 10: Searching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28830483#pagetop)  
[BD (x) Chapter 2: this chapter is pretty much just sex](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13061163/chapters/29877405#pagetop)  
  
Then Choose  
  
Vagina  
[BD (x) Chapter 4: & also prettymuch just sex (version v)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13061163/chapters/29877654#pagetop)  
[BD (x) Chapter 6: ...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13061163/chapters/30938157#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 18: For Sans](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/29965590#pagetop)  
  
Or Dick  
[BD (x) Chapter 3: still prettymuch just sex (version d)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13061163/chapters/29877603#pagetop)  
[BD (x) Chapter 5: ...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13061163/chapters/30938025#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 18: For Sans](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/29965590#pagetop)

**4\. Sci Bro**

[BD Chapter 2: Beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620064#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 4:Journal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620328#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 5: Friendship](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28751020#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 12: Know](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28680124#pagetop)  
[dreams end (sci bro) Chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13098024/chapters/29980161#pagetop) (Chapter 3 is the attachment from the email and Chapters 4-9 are the pages in the file folder)  
[BD Chapter 18: For Sans](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/29965590#pagetop)

**5\. Pen Pals**

[BD Chapter 2: Beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620064#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 4:Journal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28620328#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 5: Friendship](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28751020#pagetop)  
[BD Chapter 14: Care](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/28830540#pagetop)  
[dreams end (pen pals) Chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13097994/chapters/29980089#pagetop) (Chapter 3 is the attachment from the email and Chapters 4-12 are the pages in the file folder)  
[BD Chapter 18: For Sans](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/29965590#pagetop)


End file.
